


Kein Weg Zurück

by suna_scribbles



Series: RoE [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Tags May Change, chapters with violence will be marked with notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:07:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24782041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suna_scribbles/pseuds/suna_scribbles
Summary: Separated, afraid, and unsafe, the Autobots are in grave danger. Earth is in danger. Megatron is more powerful and less stable than ever, and he doesn't intend to let anyone stand in the way of his plans.Allegiances will be tested. Relationships will be strained. And this time, the fate of both Earth and Cybertron rests in the hands of everyone's least favorite chaotic couple.
Relationships: Blitzwing/Bumblebee
Series: RoE [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1367596
Comments: 273
Kudos: 456





	1. Chapter 1

The comfortably warm air of spring was laced thickly with the scent of flowers and damp concrete, most unbefitting of the abrupt tragedy that had left all ten inhabitants of the base staring at the blue skies in utter shock. Carving through the pristine azure was a streak of purple and yellow, barely distinguishable, a single line of contrail blazing a white divider through the cloudless sky.

Words had never truly failed Optimus before—he’d stammered and stumbled through many speeches, but he found himself wondering if this was truly the first time he’d ever been speechless. Syllables lifted and died against his lips, his mouth opening uselessly as he tried to fathom the gravity of what had just occurred before his very optics. His gaze traced the vapor trail toward Bumblebee and Blitzwing’s rapidly disappearing forms, guilt and frustration crashing against his processor, his morals whispering snidely in his audials: _You’ve failed again, haven’t you, Optimus? You’ve lost another one, with no one but yourself to blame._

A single failed sentiment had chased Bumblebee away, maybe forever. Optimus couldn’t understand why he’d been so quick to turn on a teammate. Bumblebee loved Blitzwing, trusted him, and Optimus failed to do so much as try to do the latter. Since when had Bumblebee become such a good judge of character—or, rather, when had Optimus stopped?

“They’re gone,” he whispered, unsure if anyone else in the base had heard him.

Sentinel’s voice quickly overpowered Optimus’s, crashing against the walls with such violence that they seemed to shake. “What are you _waiting_ for, bolt-brains?” he hollered, gesturing wildly at the horizon, glaring at Jetfire and Jetstorm with manic optics. “Go after them! Arrest them! _Now!_ ”

Why wouldn’t his pedes move? Optimus’s optics fell to the ground, perhaps in shame, pleading with himself to say something, to make _any_ kind of statement that could comfort his visibly distressed teammates. 

In the very edges of his peripheral vision, Optimus watched the twins salute and dart out of the base, their engines roaring as they took to the skies, spiraling in tight formation around what was left of Blitzwing’s sky-bound exhaust.

Had Bumblebee really left them, just like that? Optimus cursed himself for not speaking up, for being such a terrible leader in the face of adversity. How could he have let this happen? All of Optimus’s misjudgements had piled up, one on top of another, and all he had managed to do was chase away one of his own. The Elite Guard was, without hesitation, chasing after someone that Optimus had vowed to oversee, to lead, to _protect_ under any circumstances. 

_You can’t protect anyone. Who’s going to be next?_

Optimus flinched, his thoughts mercifully vanishing as he watched a dagger of glistening ice manifest and tear through the sky, its aim deadly precise as it clipped against one of the twins’ wings. 

“Fall back,” Ultra Magnus’s deep voice ordered. 

Optimus looked in his direction, frowning in confusion.

“ _What?_ ” Sentinel snapped, completing the thought that Optimus had, somehow, failed to articulate. “ _Why?_ How else are we going to catch them if Jetfire and Jetstorm don’t chase them? _Walking?_ ”

“I will not have the sparks of my two best soldiers put at risk, Sentinel Prime,” Magnus said firmly, his grizzled optics narrowed with warning. “We have no information about the plans of the Decepticon and the traitor, and if I am to accept Optimus Prime’s testimony, I believe their safety must be reserved for future attacks. Am I correct?”

Optimus stared dumbly for a moment, trying to work through the multitude of confusing thoughts spiraling through his processor. “I’m—sorry, sir, what testimony are you referring to?”

Sentinel scoffed loudly. “Yeah, you’re _clearly_ equipped to lead a team, Optimus.”

“Sentinel Prime, for the last time, _not now,_ ” Ultra Magnus said curtly. “I was referring to your statement that Megatron has allegedly modified his frame to that of a triple changer. Is this true, bearing in mind that this statement will likely be used in a court of law?”

“Oh, great,” Prowl murmured tiredly, somewhere to Optimus’s left. “Trial talk. My favorite.”

“ _Mute it, draft-dodger!_ ” Sentinel barked.

“ _Yes,_ ” Optimus interrupted, rubbing his helm in a feeble attempt to ease his oncoming headache. “Yes, I stand by it, sir. I saw it myself. Megatron has had his frame modified and has become a triple changer. Presumably by using the talents of, um—”

“My _dad,_ ” Sari said bitterly, her small voice cracking harshly over the words.

“This isn’t your discussion, organic,” Sentinel growled, making a face as though he’d just smelled something awful. Optimus rolled his optics.

“Regardless, it’s true, and we’re in serious danger, sir,” Optimus said, mentally scrambling for some sort of plan, watching as the twins landed lightly on the pavement outside. “I would recommend—our best option is likely calling for backup, sir. We need to take an offensive angle if we want to keep Megatron from destroying Earth completely.”

Ultra Magnus watched Optimus closely for a few moments, his optics dark as he silently pondered. Optimus shifted uncomfortably, avoiding the scrutinizing gaze as he surveyed his own team.

Bulkhead had fallen to his knees the moment Bumblebee had left the base, and he had yet to get up or move at all. Prowl was leaning against a wall, expression unreadable behind his sharp blue visor, arms folded tightly across his chest. Ratchet seemed to have aged ten years in the past five minutes, his optics heavy, his faceplates sagging under their own weight, something dark and miserable lingering behind centuries of exhaustion.

Optimus was the only one who dared to face Ultra Magnus with a firm expression still locked into place, his processor spinning as he tried to simultaneously smother his worries and formulate a plan. There had to be _something_ that they could do, some perfect combination of words and laws that would convince Magnus to focus on Megatron instead of Blitzwing and Bumblebee.

“I appreciate the suggestion, Optimus Prime. I believe that from now on, we must proceed with utmost stringency,” Ultra Magnus said calmly.

“I agree, sir,” Optimus said. “If we want to keep Megatron’s threat contained, we should—”

“Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Bulkhead, and Prowl,” Magnus interrupted, optics flashing, “you are under arrest for suspicion of treason against the Autobot High Council and, conjointly, Autobot Law.”

An immediate chorus of sound rattled around the base as each member of Optimus’s team stepped forward, each of them with furious, narrowed optics.

“Just what exactly did _we_ do wrong?” Ratchet spat.

“I’ve been purposefully distancing myself from this situation,” Prowl said, his visor flashing with anger that rarely reached the surface of his features. “This is completely out of line.”

“What good would we be in prison?” Bulkhead shouted.

“Ultra Magnus, sir,” Optimus interjected, pushing himself in front of the raging wall of metal. “There are no grounds for a formal arrest! We—”

“Harbored a fugitive and willingly gave said fugitive aid and comfort within the walls of your base,” Magnus said with a firm scowl. “You have concealed knowledge of commission of treason against the Autobots. That is _plenty_ of grounds for arrest. Jetfire, Jetstorm, Sentinel Prime, Jazz, if you please.”

“This is _ridiculous!_ ” Ratchet yelled, stepping back as Jetfire approached him with stasis cuffs in hand.

“Please be standing still,” Jetfire said, grimacing as he approached the medic. “We will be using forces if needed.”

Ratchet scoffed, swatting a servo angrily toward the jet. “Frag off, flybot!”

Optimus looked around wildly, watching as the Elite Guard drew stasis cuffs from their subspaces. Only Jazz looked uncomfortable at the prospect of arresting any of them, giving Sentinel a sideways glance as they shuffled forward.

“Let’s just make this easy, alright?” Sentinel said, his smug grin locked tightly on Optimus. “It won’t be fun for any of us if we have to add ‘resisting arrest’ to your charges.”

Optimus rolled his optics, giving Magnus a fleeting, pleading stare. “Ultra Magnus, sir, _please_ listen to me,” he said, uncomfortably aware of how eager Sentinel’s smirk was becoming. “The people of this planet are in danger. The planet _itself_ is in danger. If we don’t stop Megatron _now,_ this could become an interplanetary dispute. Megatron could cause chaos in the entire _galaxy_ if we don’t take him out _right now!_ ”

Sentinel grabbed onto one of Optimus’s wrists, and frustration finally overwhelmed Optimus. He snapped his elbow upwards, wincing as it collided into Sentinel’s jaw with a resonating _crack._

“Ow!” Sentinel snapped, wrenching Optimus’s arm up _hard,_ nearly popping it out of its socket. “Resisting arrest! Permission to use force, Ultra Magnus?”

Ultra Magnus’s expression didn’t change, save for a trace of disappointment that leaked into the very depths of his optics. “I’m disappointed in you, Optimus Prime,” he said coldly. “Permission granted.”

“Sir—!”

Optimus was given little time to react, and before he could dodge, Sentinel had shoved a fist deep into his gut, drawing a spluttering cry from Optimus’s vocalizer. He grimaced, twisting out of Sentinel’s grip and burying his elbow back into Sentinel’s chin.

“Ultra Magnus, you _can’t_ arrest us!” Optimus shouted. “The people of this planet are in _grave danger!_ Don’t you get that?”

“At the moment, that is not my concern,” Magnus said, watching motionless as Sentinel tackled Optimus to the floor, fighting to get a hold of his arms. Optimus bucked as hard as he could, catching a fleeting glimpse of Ratchet as he was pinned to the ground by the twins, who immediately locked him into stasis cuffs. Ratchet twitched, scowling as the cuffs took effect, all of his spite now directed at the jets that had taken him down.

“Beating up an old bot like me, how _classy,_ ” he spat as Jetstorm carefully rolled him over.

“Sorry,” Jetfire said weakly. “Orders are for following.”

Optimus strained his frame as viciously as he could, but with Sentinel’s knee digging viciously into the small of his back, it was nearly impossible to move. He could only manage to whip his helm around and glower as his former friend snapped cuffs onto his wrists, grinning triumphantly.

“Smooth move, dropout,” Sentinel hissed. “Now you’re under _more_ arrest.”

“That’s not how arrests work, you dolt,” Optimus replied harshly.

Sentinel rolled his optics and stood up, brushing dirt from his frame. “Whatever,” he grumbled.

Optimus craned his neck, watching miserably as Bulkhead was finally taken down after putting up a surprising fight. Even with his arms fixed behind his back and his frame presumably in stasis lock, he still managed to jerk from side to side, wearing a bitter expression that Optimus had never seen on him before.

“We’re not the bad guys here!” Bulkhead said. “ _Stop!_ ”

“Yeah, right,” Sentinel scoffed, strolling toward Bulkhead and placing a pede on his chest. “Your little boot camp friend is, though. I guess I did pretty well naming you both, huh?”

“ _Don’t talk about him like that!_ ” Bulkhead shouted.

Sentinel stomped his foot hard against Bulkhead’s chest in retaliation. Optimus winced.

“Come on, Sentinel, knock it off!” he said. “That’s excessive!”

Sentinel shrugged. “Like I said. _Whatever._ ”

“ _Enough._ ”

Ultra Magnus’s voice cut through the argumentative chaos, bringing everyone to an immediate silence. Optimus shut his optics, gritting his dentae as he fought uselessly against the cuffs. _Come on, come on,_ he thought. _There’s got to be some way out of these. Megatron is—_

“Sentinel Prime, the protoform,” Magnus said calmly.

Optimus’s optics flashed open, and he swiveled his helm toward Sentinel, panic ripping through his processor. “Leave Sari _alone,_ ” he ordered, using his best commanding tone. “She’s an innocent third party here!”

“The organic will not be harmed,” Magnus said, as if that would somehow make Optimus feel better. “It is simply best that there be no extraneous Cybertronian technology left on this planet.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Sari’s voice was small and frantic, coming from somewhere outside of Optimus’s field of view. “Get away from me, creep— _ow!_ ”

“He said to _leave her alone!_ ” Ratchet hollered.

“Would you relax, rust bucket?” Sentinel said, striding proudly into Optimus’s view once again. “It’s the one hurting _me!_ ”

Optimus’s spark swelled with momentary pride as he watched Sari kick and scream, fighting with all of the ferocity of an eight year old in an attempt to free herself from Sentinel’s grip. Her efforts were, of course, completely fruitless, and it took Ultra Magnus only a short moment to lean toward her and pluck away her key, snapping the fabric cord without even an ounce of effort.

“Hey!” Sari whined once again. “That’s _mine!_ Give it back to me! It chose _me!_ ”

“It is no longer your concern, organic,” Magnus said, dropping the key into his subspace.

Optimus writhed as much as he could, no longer caring about whatever charges might be brought against him. He _knew_ that his team was strong enough to help fight Megatron, if not bring him down entirely on their own. He had watched them grow, learned with them, become a stronger mech because of them. There was no way he would let their mission end like this, frozen in stasis cuffs by the very mechs that had rejected them so many stellar cycles ago.

“Well, then,” Ultra Magnus announced, speaking as though he hadn’t just ordered the arrest of his own subordinates. “Take the prisoners to the brig. Jazz, prepare Steelhaven for takeoff.”

“We’re _leaving?_ ” Optimus blurted. “I _told_ you, this planet is in _danger!_ Megatron is _here!_ ”

“Mute it, _prisoner,_ ” Sentinel purred, leaning down and hoisting Optimus over one arm. “The plans of the Elite Guard are no longer your concern.”

“You’re making a mistake and you _know_ it,” Optimus hissed, wishing with all his might that his stasis cuffs would magically fall from his wrists. “Come on, Sentinel. Take these cuffs off me and we can discuss a plan to take down Megatron. You _know_ it’s the right thing to do!”

Sentinel glared down at Optimus with hatred broiling in his optics, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Yeah,” he growled. “Because _you’re_ a great judge of the _right thing to do._ Wanna explain again how you housed and fueled a Decepticon?”

Optimus opened his mouth, fully prepared to argue, but the words vanished once they reached his lips. His processor swirled, trying to rationalize his actions to himself and failing.

_You’re a terrible leader,_ his morals whispered at him once again. _You’ve really done it now._

Even if he’d had a proper argument, all of the fire seemed to go out within Optimus’s spark, snuffed out in an instant. He hated to admit it, but for once, Sentinel had a point—what had Optimus been _thinking?_ He’d failed Bumblebee, he’d failed his team, and he’d soon fail all of Earth. The planet that he’d sworn to protect for so long was now in more danger than it had ever been, and because of his idiotic decisions, he wouldn’t be there to protect it.

He tilted his helm back, only able to watch as Sari chased after them, tears streaming down her face in thin rivulets. 

_I’m sorry,_ he mouthed, wishing he could do more as his team was dragged onto the Elite Guard ship, leaving Sari behind. Her small legs couldn’t carry her fast enough, and Optimus could only watch as her face disappeared behind the hissing locks of the bridge door.

* * *

“Gotta be real with you, Prowl,” Jazz murmured, barely audible as he leaned down to remove Prowl’s shurikens. “I was thinking you’d put up a bit more of a fight.”

Prowl drew a quiet, deep breath, doing his best to center himself as Sentinel and Ratchet bickered loudly through the energon-reinforced prison walls. Optimus seemed to have mentally checked out the moment his grapple and axe were confiscated, and his empty, listless stare was making it quite hard for Prowl to focus on the positives of their increasingly negative situation.

“Why bother?” he said, ignoring how strangely naked he felt without his weapons. “I get nothing out of getting upset.”

“But you _love_ Earth,” Jazz said, leading Prowl toward his designated cell. “OP keeps going on about how smashed up it’s gonna get. You’re just gonna let that happen?”

“You’re the one putting me in prison,” Prowl sniffed.

Jazz sighed. “Orders are orders,” he said. “You can’t tell how much I hate all this?”

“That makes two of us,” Prowl mumbled.

“ _Hey!_ ” Sentinel barked, abruptly cutting the conversation short. “No chit chatting! Jazz, hurry up. Ultra Magnus needs us on the bridge.”

“Right.”

Prowl watched as Jazz entered a passcode into the small digital pad outside of his cell, allowing a thin sheet of green to cascade over the glass. For a moment, he met Jazz’s optics, seeking out a shred of pity that could be hiding behind Jazz’s visor, but the ninjabot turned away before Prowl could get a good look.

“Alright, traitors,” Sentinel said, standing at his full height with gusto. “All weapons have been surrendered, but if we catch you stashing anything and trying to use it, there will be consequences. A signal jammer is in place within the brig, so don’t even bother trying to ping each other. If _any_ of you are—”

“Sentinel Prime.”

Prowl snorted quietly as Magnus appeared behind Sentinel, causing him to jump nearly a foot in the air.

“Yes, sir?”

“Enough with the theatrics. You and Jazz will be in charge of scanning for Cybertronian life signals on Earth. I have a meeting with the Council in ten cycles.”

“Right,” Sentinel grumbled. “Of course. Jazz, I’ll help Ultra Magnus start the scans, and you can—”

“ _Both_ of you will be coming to the bridge,” Magnus said firmly. “The prisoners won’t be going anywhere at this altitude.”

“Did we take off already?” Bulkhead said, and Prowl sighed, silently amazed that Bulkhead had kept a lid on his curiosity for this long. “And you’re scanning for Cybertronian life? That means you’re looking for Bee?”

“I told you all to _mute it!_ ” Sentinel snapped. “This is Elite Guard business, not yours.”

“If you find him, what are you—”

“Quiet,” Magnus ordered. “Sentinel Prime, Jazz, with me. Jetfire and Jetstorm will guard the doors.”

Rubbing his aching wrists, Prowl lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs and slowly straightening his spinal strut. The energy in the room was understandably awful, but if they were going to be imprisoned for a long time, he might as well take advantage of the peace and quiet.

“Really, Prowl?” Bulkhead whispered loudly as the brig door snapped shut behind Sentinel and Jazz. “You’re going to meditate right now?”

Prowl rolled his optics before closing them. “Clearly.”

“Oh! Are you doing that processor and matter stuff?”

“Processor _over_ matter,” Prowl corrected. “And no. I’m only meditating.”

“You could try it, though!” Bulkhead pressed. “If we can break out of here, maybe we can—”

“Bulkhead, with all due respect, shut up,” Prowl interrupted. “Ultra Magnus said we’re at altitude, scanning Earth. This brig is the safest place for us to be at the moment.”

“We’re _prisoners!_ ” Bulkhead groaned, dropping his helm into his hands. “You can’t just be _okay_ with that! Can you?”

“I have little other choice,” Prowl muttered, prying his optics open to fire a scowl in Bulkhead’s direction. 

“Both of you, pipe down a bit, would ya?” Ratchet said, sinking against the back of his cell. “There’s nothin’ we can do right now.”

“So you’re not even going to _try?_ ” Bulkhead argued.

“ _No!_ ” Ratchet snapped. “I’m not! We’re in enough heat as is, don’t you think? I agree with Prowl—spending some time in the _peace and quiet_ seems like the best thing we can do right now. I’m tired of fighting and arguing with the lot of you.”

Ratchet turned sharply, his back facing the rest of the team, his arms folding tightly in front of his chest. Bulkhead opened his mouth once again, but Prowl shot him a quick frown, drawing a digit in front of his lips in the universal sign for _shut your fragging mouth right now, or so help me Primus._

Fortunately, Bulkhead seemed to get the message. He clamped his jaw shut, his back thumping against the wall as he leaned back with a pointed huff. Prowl nodded in silent thanks, readjusting himself into a more comfortable sitting position.

He took one more glance at Optimus, who was still blank-faced in his cell, optics dull and lost. Prowl tried to meet his gaze, but Optimus clearly had no intentions of discussing anything with anyone—Prowl could only assume his ego had taken a massive hit, and that was not a discussion he wanted to get into at the moment.

He instead opted to close his own optics, resting his servos against his knees and drawing a sheet of cool air in and out of his vents. His frame already ached for natural sunlight, but he supposed he would have to make do for the time being.

It didn’t seem as though they’d be getting out any time soon.


	2. Chapter 2

Though Sari had spent the last year or so surrounded by robots double, triple, more than _quadruple_ her size, she realized that she had never felt insignificant compared to them—until right now.

She was completely powerless to do anything but watch as the Elite Guard ship’s engines hummed to life, her shoulders drooping as the massive craft lifted slowly from the ground. Gravel and leaves blew around in the wicked downwash, whipping Sari’s hair straight out of its pigtails as she shielded her face against the miniature storm.

Once the dust had settled and Sari dared to open her eyes, she was only able to catch a glimpse of Steelhaven before its dark blue exterior vanished from view. 

She stared at the spot where the ship had vanished, unsure if her eyes were clouded with tears or dirt. Her friends, her _family_ was on that ship, jailed for something they hadn’t done, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Frustrated with herself, Sari wiped her tears on her sleeve, ruffling her now-gnarled mess of hair. _Crying won’t solve your problems,_ she told herself, recalling the many lectures her dad had given to her in her formative years. _One minute for tears, one hour of fixing it. That’s what Dad always said._

Though as she started her supposed hour of figuring out a solution, she only grew tempted to cry more. What _could_ she do? She was just a kid: she couldn’t fly, she couldn’t build a spaceship, she couldn’t do _anything._ Sari dropped onto the couch, furiously wiping at her cheeks.

“Alright, Sari, think,” she mumbled to herself, looking around the base. “Everything’s bad. Everything’s really, really bad. But it won’t be bad forever, right? They’ll come back. They have to. Megatron’s still on this planet. Right?”

She sank deeper into the couch, pulling a pillow over her face. Maybe if she’d argued more with Ultra Magnus or that Sentinel guy, she could have bought Optimus enough time to escape. Had she done something wrong, by staying quiet? 

There were too many thoughts in her head, and Sari groaned out loud, the noise muffled by the plush pillow smushed against her cheeks. First, she’d realized that her dad was still alive, then she’d had to process her best friend running away, _then_ the rest of her friends got arrested?

“I’m just a _kid!_ ” Sari moaned, tears soaking her pillow. “I don’t know how to _deal with all this!_ ”

She allowed herself a single ugly sob, digging her fingers violently into the pillow. Everything was going wrong, and she couldn’t help but wonder if there was some way she could have prevented it. Had she been too hard on Bumblebee? Had she been too hard on _Blitzwing?_ Should she have defended them? She knew, deep down, that Bumblebee was only looking out for her, even if the lie of omission had stung deep in her core.

If she’d stuck up for Bee, or if she’d been a little kinder to him, would he still be here? Would everyone still be here?

Sari yelled aloud, punching and kicking the air, hurling her pillow across the room. 

Bumblebee was always the one to comfort her and tell her that she was too hard on herself, and she’d called him a liar. Sure, he’d screwed up by keeping her dad’s location a secret, but friends were supposed to forgive each other. Maybe _she’d_ been a bad friend too.

“This _stinks!_ ” Sari shrieked, jumping up and stomping her feet against the ground, desperately trying to get some of her frustration out. 

Unfortunately, all she managed to do was stub her toe, which just made her scream louder.

It was about ten minutes before Sari had finally thrown a sufficient tantrum, knocking things over and yelling at the sky, begging the Elite Guard to bring her friends back. By the time she was done, her throat was raw and her knuckles were scraped, but at least it was becoming much easier to breathe. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her aching lungs fill with air, then letting it all out in a tired puff.

Prowl had once told her that taking lots of deep breaths and counting to four or five (or whatever, she couldn’t remember) was a great way to calm down. Though the thought of him made her eyes sting all over again, Sari did her best to listen to his advice, counting silently as she took breaths in and out, in and out.

The Autobots had become so deeply ingrained in her life, Sari realized, and she hated that she’d taken it for granted. They’d been the best friends she’d ever had, and she wasn’t going to let them go that easily. No way.

“Okay, think,” Sari said in a deep voice, trying to emulate Optimus by pacing back and forth, scratching her chin. “My friends are in space, and I’m on Earth. So if I want to save them, I have to get to space. But I can’t fly, and I don’t know where they are in space. And since they’re in space, I can’t ask them, so I could—wait!”

Maybe Optimus’s pacing thing wasn’t as stupid as it looked. Sari straightened and dashed across the base, flinging herself into her room and tossing her blankets in all different directions, scouring the bed for her phone.

She hadn’t even _considered_ calling them. The Autobots all had internal phones or comms or whatever they called them, and she doubted the Elite Guard would be able to block calls from human phones. If she could call internationally, she could totally call someone in space, right?

Sari’s fingers brushed against hard plastic, and she latched onto her phone immediately, flipping it open and dialing the first number in her contacts: Bulkhead. Eagerly, she brought her phone to her ear, but her heart sank almost immediately.

`The number you are trying to reach is unavailable at this time. Please contact your provider if you—`

“Come _on!_ ” Sari yelled. “They can’t be _that_ far, can they?”

She tried the rest of the comms, but they all returned the same useless message. Against her better judgement, she even tried calling Bumblebee, but she couldn’t even connect to his comm at all— _probably because of Blitzwing’s stupid signal dampener,_ she assumed. Tears of anger bubbled behind her eyes, but she blinked them away, forcing herself to pace Optimus-style once again.

“I can’t call them,” she said, clenching her hands into fists. “They’re either too far away, or maybe their comms got turned off or something. Elite Guard, more like Elite _Jerks…_ ”

She chuckled quietly at her own joke, turning on her heel to continue walking back and forth.

“So what are my options?” she asked herself. “I can either sit here and wait, or I can figure out how to get to outer space. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? I could steal one of those moon drones, maybe modify it a bit so it works better.”

She fumbled under her bed and pulled out her precious key, turning it over and over between her fingers. Ultra Magnus may have thought he was cool, taking away her key like that, but he was an idiot if he thought Sari wouldn’t have a trick up her sleeve. She knew how Cybertronians felt about the Allspark, and there was no way in _heck_ that she was going to just hand over her key to them. She needed it, and it needed her, even if she couldn’t be certain as to why. And fortunately, it had been extremely easy to use her _real_ key to turn an old circuit board into a fake key, which Magnus had predictably stolen from her.

Though the more she thought about it, the less sense her plan made. She had no idea how to fly a drone, and if anyone from Earth chased after her, she’d be putting the Autobots in even more danger. Worse, if _Megatron_ chased her, she’d probably become singlehandedly responsible for the destruction of Cybertron. Which was _not_ the legacy she intended to leave behind.

“Optimus would know what to do,” she mumbled, tying the key firmly around her neck. “Anyone but me would know what to do. Bee, Bulkhead, Prowl, Dad, even Ratch—”

She paused, glancing down at her phone.

_Her dad._

For the first time in ages, she’d just learned that he was alive. He was being held captive somewhere by Megatron, sure, but he was alive and he was safe. And he was the best scientist the world had ever known, good enough that even Megatron wanted him on his side.

_Good enough to build a spaceship,_ Sari thought, her eyes widening.

Her heart surged with new purpose as she jumped to her feet. She couldn’t save the Autobots on her own, but she could definitely save her dad. He had to be near Megatron, who was definitely close by. And if Megatron was busy chasing after Bumblebee and Blitzwing, maybe, just _maybe,_ she’d be able to set her dad free.

Sari’s body moved on its own, and before she knew it, she was sprinting through her room and gathering up extra clothes and hidden snacks that she’d procured throughout the months. She had no weapons and no idea of how long this would take, but determination washed over her with such power that she barely stopped to consider the consequences.

She was going to get her dad back. One way or another.

Whatever would fit in her backpack, she brought with her—a toothbrush, bottles of water, granola bars, a change of clothes, and a heaping stack of bandages that she, unfortunately, figured she’d make good use of. Hopefully the Autobots wouldn’t mind that she raided the vending machine: her key made it quite simple to hack into, and as tempting as the candy was, she opted instead for—ugh— _pretzels._

With her backpack strapped on and her heart full of resolve, Sari stuffed a final tool into her pockets: a map of Detroit that she’d lent to Prowl. He’d marked it quite thoroughly with little red lines, noting down all of his favorite spots to watch the birds in the evening, but it was thankfully still readable enough that Sari could make out most of southwest Michigan.

Megatron wasn’t stupid, so Sari supposed he wasn’t hiding anywhere downtown. He was somewhere on the outskirts of the city, maybe even further away, for all she knew. But Sari was lucky—she’d been on many business trips with her dad, and she’d become pretty familiar with the land outside of Detroit and the mineral-rich mines that lay within it.

She’d scour every inch of the rural midwest if she had to. Sari set her jaw and clapped a baseball cap over her hair, shielding her face from the beaming springtime sun as she stepped out of the base and locked the door firmly behind her with her key.

“I’m coming, Dad,” she whispered, opening the compass app on her phone and setting off toward the west.

* * *

Since the day his frame had been upgraded, Megatron had been smiling quite a bit more. Power surged through every movement he made, his strength tripled, his might unmatched by anyone, online or offline. He felt it deep in his spark—becoming a triple changer had always been his destiny. He was certain of it.

But his smile had never been broader than it was today. 

It was impossible to miss the sight of a Cybertronian ship breaking out of the atmosphere. The Steelhaven had foolishly landed just miles away from his location, and had taken off within the hour. Slowly, Megatron had noticed—much too slowly for intergalactic travel.

He chuckled to himself.

“My Lord?”

Megatron immediately grimaced at the sound of Lugnut’s voice, but his irritation bled away quickly enough for him to replace the smirk on his face. “Yes?” he asked quietly.

His loyal second-in-command, Lugnut, the only mech who hadn’t turned out to be an unsavory traitor, crept closer, his single optic lowered respectfully. “I do not mean to question your wisdom, my Lord, but…” Lugnut hesitated before meeting Megatron’s gaze. “Why, exactly, are you smiling?”

Megatron hummed, a low purr emitting from deep in his chassis. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked.

“Well—the Autobots, my liege,” Lugnut said sheepishly. “They are leaving, are they not? They are escaping. And we were unable to stop them.”

“They don’t need to be stopped,” Megatron answered calmly.

Lugnut cocked his massive helm. “My Lord?”

Megatron sighed, tilting his helm back toward the sky, watching as the setting sun obscured the trail of vapor that the Steelhaven had left behind. “They have not escaped,” he said. “In fact, they have not even left the planet’s orbit. Ultra Magnus would not dare return to Cybertron without his prized prisoner.”

“Blitzwing?” Lugnut said dumbly—Megatron rolled his optics. “How can you be certain that he isn’t in custody, my Lord?”

Megatron’s grin grew wider. “Blitzwing is a slippery fiend,” he said coldly. “Trust me, Lugnut, they are still in orbit.”

As Megatron predicted, Lugnut fell all over himself, his optic shimmering with adoration. “I _do_ trust you, my Lord,” he said eagerly. “Your knowledge knows no bounds. No other mech could possibly be so talented at prediction, knowing every step that the Autobots are taking even from a distance. You are—”

Megatron couldn’t hold back anymore: he interrupted Lugnut with a sharp laugh, unable to fight back the amusement that had quickly ripped through his frame. “No need to grovel, Lugnut,” Megatron snickered. “The Steelhaven was not travelling at speeds necessary for full takeoff. They only intended to reach the exosphere, I predict. They do not have Blitzwing, and they are foolishly waiting nearby to catch him.”

He chuckled some more, covering his mouth as laughter racked his frame. Lugnut’s gaze stayed on him, unmoving, but Megatron didn’t particularly care if he was making a fool of himself.

“The Autobots have no sense of foresight,” Megatron said, his grin growing nastier and wider. “Their idiocy and stubbornness has given me quite the plan. Would you like to hear it?”

Lugnut remained silent for a moment, and Megatron scowled at him, irritated once again. “ _Do you?_ ” he snapped.

“Yes!” Lugnut said quickly, straightening and nodding. “Yes, my Lord, I do. Impart your wisdom upon me.”

Megatron’s scowl melted away into a pleasant smile once again, and his gaze shifted dreamily toward the sky. “Steelhaven is hovering over Detroit as we speak,” Megatron reiterated pleasantly. “Staying in orbit with this planet, with minimal defenses. It is by far the most well-known Autobot ship, which is why it will provide perfect cover.”

Lugnut’s optic narrowed curiously. “Cover?”

“Steelhaven will be commandeered, fool,” Megatron said. “It is equipped with the best intergalactic engines—antimatter magnetic containment generators, passive long range sensors, a _Veritas-class_ hyperspace engine. Steelhaven is seen as a symbol of peace, of freedom—it is a ship that no Autobot would ever turn away. Which is why, when we are aboard, we will be able to walk directly into the Metroplex. The High Council will be at our pedes begging for mercy before we even enter the council chamber.”

_Now_ he had Lugnut’s full attention. Lugnut was staring at him with that wonderful look of devotion once again, the look that silently whispered _I would die for your cause, Megatron._ And Megatron knew it was true.

“Brilliant, my Lord, my Master,” Lugnut said. “ _Brilliant._ You will crush the Autobot law beneath your pedes and become the Magnus that Cybertron truly deserves.”

“Yes,” Megatron said with a smirk. “I will. Now, would you be so kind as to speak to the human for me? I would like him to research all available information about Autobot ships. Infiltration is much easier when you know where you’re going.”

“Of course, my liege!” Lugnut said, springing to his pedes and lowering himself into a quick bow. “I will see to it.”

Megatron smiled as Lugnut disappeared into the base, the darkness swallowing him whole in mere moments. He turned back toward the sky, pensive as he watched the sun sink toward the horizon, splashing the sky with shades of orange and cream.

Everything was falling into place. His frame, more glorious than ever, was striking fear into Autobots that hadn’t even witnessed it yet. Steelhaven was within his grasp, and power over Cybertron was just outside of his reach. Nothing would stop him from winning this war once and for all—and, better yet, Megatron was certain that nothing _could_ stop him, even if they tried.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been quite some time since Jazz had been assigned grunt work, but he was surprisingly relieved to be getting his hands dirty. Any excuse to get away from the glaring, pleading optics of Optimus’s team was a good excuse, and an escape from Sentinel’s prattling was _always_ welcome.

Jazz grunted as he hoisted himself out of the Weatherlight’s engine bay, wiping smears of grease from his servos. It had been a long time since anyone had used the Steelhaven’s shuttles, but Ultra Magnus had insisted upon going back to Cybertron as soon as possible. Jazz wasn’t sure _why,_ exactly, but he suspected the meeting with the Council hadn’t gone particularly well, since Ultra Magnus had immediately requested that Jazz prepare the Weatherlight shuttle for high-speed travel.

Fortunately for Jazz, it hadn’t required too much work. A few tweaks of the engine had successfully readied the shuttle for a journey, and Jazz had been grateful for the respite at any rate. Sentinel had somehow grown even more bossy since they’d left Earth’s atmosphere, and Jazz was dreading the fact that Ultra Magnus’s absence would most likely leave Sentinel in charge.

The near future was certainly going to be interesting, if nothing else.

Jazz putzed around as much as he could, but eventually he ran out of things to pretend to work on, so he begrudgingly turned off the Weatherlight’s engine and made his way back toward the bridge. Walking past the brig, an uncomfortable sensation twisted his tanks—though Optimus and his team had undeniably committed genuine crimes, it still felt strangely wrong to have them imprisoned like this. Maybe it was just his soft side, Jazz supposed, but he doubted they had any ill intentions.

Especially Ratchet, who’d seemed more furious about their imprisonment than anyone else. Though Jazz couldn’t blame him—out of everyone in the group, Ratchet had been the most vocal in denouncing Bumblebee’s actions, yet he was still locked up like the rest of them. Prowl had been almost completely uninvolved, though Jazz suspected that his silence may have been more forced than he let on. Jazz was more than familiar with Prowl’s type, the brooding, silent cyber-ninja, locking all of his feelings away in lieu of achieving inner peace.

Jazz had never been that type of mech. But in a way, he admired Prowl’s ability to do so. In a situation like this, especially an operation headed by Ultra Magnus and Sentinel Prime, silence was one of the best ways to keep from digging yourself into a deeper grave.

Said silence, however, did not last for very long. As soon as Jazz reached the bridge, he was immediately met with the nervous rambling of Jetfire and Jetstorm, both of whom were shifting uneasily from pede to pede.

“It just isn’t good time for you to be leaving, sir,” Jetfire was saying, a small smile flashing over his face as Jazz quietly inserted himself into the conversation.

“Bumbler and Three-Face are on _this_ planet, sir!” Jetstorm added. “Why be going to Cybertron? What if they’re needing arrest?”

“There is business that I need to attend to directly,” Ultra Magnus said cryptically, his deep-set optics somehow looking more heavy and strained than ever. “I would request that you not question my decision any further.”

Jetstorm frowned. “But—”

“Jetstorm.”

The jet sulked dejectedly for a moment before nodding, silently slinking to his brother’s side. Magnus and Sentinel shared a moment of pointed silence, looking at each other for a moment before turning to Jazz.

“I’m in charge until Ultra Magnus comes back,” Sentinel said before Magnus could even open his mouth.

Jazz fought to keep his optics from rolling. “Yeah, I figured. That’s cool with me.”

Magnus finished giving Sentinel a dry stare before looking toward Jazz, his gaze incredibly intense. “While Sentinel Prime will be mandating your day-to-day tasks and guarding the prisoners, you will be watching communications as normal, Jazz. As such, I would ask that you keep the details of the current situation… under wraps, as they say.”

Jazz already hated where this was going, but he nodded regardless. “Right. Not that anyone’s gonna be ringing, right?”

“It is unlikely, but in the event that we are contacted by any squads currently guarding space bridges, it is important that we keep from spreading any speculative rumors,” Magnus said, his optics moving deliberately across the team.

Jazz almost spoke up for confirmation, but he quickly realized that Ultra Magnus was avoiding the topic purposefully for whatever reason. Blitzwing _had_ accused Longarm of being a Decepticon spy, and if that got out at _all,_ nearly every Autobot would be thrown into a panic. Jazz wasn’t sure why Magnus wouldn’t even discuss it—maybe he was worried that it was true?—but Jazz definitely wasn’t keen on breaking the sudden unspoken rule.

“You got it, boss,” Jazz said. “SP in charge, scan for life signals, keep lips zipped. We’ve got it under control.”

“I’ll keep you updated on everything that happens here,” Sentinel said, folding his arms across his chest smugly. “Better get going soon, huh? Traffic to Cybertron is bad this time of year.”

Jazz forced a flat chuckle, though he was laughing more at Sentinel’s eagerness to take charge than he was at the bad joke. Sentinel loved nothing more than being the boss, and Jazz was fully prepared to be a peasant under his rule, no matter how insignificant it would be.

“Yes,” Magnus said, either ignoring Sentinel’s joke or missing it entirely. “Jazz, is Weatherlight suited for travel?”

“It’s in tip top shape,” Jazz said, grinning warmly and displaying his grease-smudged servos as proof. “Had to get under the hood for a bit, but she should get you to and from Cybertron without a hitch. Just make sure you pull slow on the brakes—they’re a bit touchy.”

“Wonderful. Thank you,” Magnus said with the usual curt nod. “I will be off, then. And as we discussed, Sentinel Prime, no harassing the prisoners.”

“I _won’t,_ sir!” Sentinel said, following Magnus closely as he left for the shuttle bay. “I told you, I was just pulling an old friend’s leg, sir. They’ll be treated perfectly kindly.”

The two voices faded into the depths of the Steelhaven, and Jazz turned to the twins, who were looking at him with wide, curious optics.

“Why is Ultra Magnus sir so secret?” Jetfire asked in a loud whisper.

Jazz couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t worry about that, you two,” he said. “Lots of BTS drama going on right now. It’s best if we just do what he says.”

“BTS,” Jetstorm murmured to himself. “‘Big technology… stuff?’”

“No,” Jazz said, fighting back a laugh. “Behind the scenes. Dealing with the Council can be pretty tough for Magnus sometimes. I’ll tell you about it once this all blows over, how’s that?”

The twins both nodded eagerly, and Jazz’s spark ached for a moment. Despite having some of the best combat skills among Autobots, the twins were still incredibly new to the Elite Guard, having shot through the ranks almost immediately after Project Safeguard’s completion. They were far from stupid—quite the opposite, in fact—but the inner workings of the High Council were essentially a mystery to them. 

Jazz envied that about them. Though, on the bright side, they’d learn quickly. This _was_ one of their first official assignments, after all.

Before he could continue the pleasant conversation, the twins snapped to attention, their gazes locked on the door behind Jazz. Jazz turned around, already weary of Sentinel but trying his best to hide it.

As suspected, Sentinel was strolling through the doorway, a large grin on his face. “Alright, grunts,” he said. “Ultra Magnus is on course for Cybertron, which means _I’m_ now in charge.”

“We heard,” Jazz said. The twins snickered.

“Oh, can it,” Sentinel spat, rolling his optics. “Jetfire, Jetstorm, I want you two to go to Earth’s surface for me. I want Schizo and his stingless traitor brought in, double time!”

“Yes, Sentinel Prime, s—”

“Hold on!” Jazz interrupted, stepping in front of Sentinel and putting his servos on his hips. “Ultra Magnus said you’re in charge of watching the prisoners, not going on a bot-hunt. What’s your damage?”

“Ultra Magnus said I’m in charge of all _day-to-day_ activities,” Sentinel said, scowling and leaning into Jazz’s face. “And I’ve decided that those activities are going to be bringing in _more_ prisoners.”

“No way,” Jazz said, holding his ground with a frown of his own. “We’ve got orders to follow. This ain’t the time for you to be chasing after glory. Blitzwing is _dangerous,_ and we don’t have a clue where he even _is._ ”

“Well, he can’t have gone _too_ far, could he?” Sentinel said. “And I’m not _chasing after glory._ I’m trying to bring in a Decepticon and a traitor to the Autobot cause! What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s a wild goose chase, that’s what’s ‘wrong with that,’” Jazz said. “It’d be great to bring them in and all, but risking Jetfire and Jetstorm’s safety over something that isn’t even part of our orders, that’s—”

“It _is_ part of your orders, because _I_ give the orders until Ultra Magnus comes back,” Sentinel snapped.

Jazz rolled his optics. “And what are you going to report when Magnus asks what you’re up to?”

Sentinel smirked. “We’ll just leave out that little detail. I mean, we _are_ gonna be guarding the prisoners. We’ll just be working on a little side project, too.”

“That’s—”

“You and I will take shifts between guarding the prisoners and watching for life signals, what’s the problem?” Sentinel interrupted with a priggish grin. “Everything around the ship will be taken care of. Unless you want to admit that you can’t stare at a screen without backup?”

Jazz had a few thousand reasons as to why this was the _stupidest idea in the world,_ but he was all-too familiar with the sparkle currently residing in Sentinel’s optics. He wanted to make a statement, and he wanted all of the credit for doing it. There was no arguing with Sentinel when he’d made a decision, and Jazz sighed, rubbing his forehead and opting to give up before he got an ache in his processor.

“Whatever,” Jazz muttered. “Just make sure they’re reporting in often, alright?”

“Well, duh,” Sentinel said, finally leaving Jazz’s personal bubble and turning toward the twins. “Now get going, numb-nodes! Your first big job is gonna be a big one!”

“Yes, sir, Sentinel Prime, sir!” the twins said in unison, wearing equally excited and naive grins. 

Jazz watched as they rushed for the exit in the secondary bridge, their footfalls light and airy against the metal ground beneath them. He had a bad feeling about this, deep in his tanks, but trying to reason with Sentinel was going to be less than useless at this point.

_They’re tough,_ Jazz reminded himself, swallowing down an exasperated sigh. _The toughest of the bunch. They’ll be fine. They probably won’t even find them. Those two could be on the other side of the planet, for all we know._

Whatever the case, overthinking it would only put Jazz into a deeper state of unease. He took a page out of Prowl’s book and pushed his anxieties aside, turning toward the back of the bridge.

“If we’re swapping swifts with the prisoners, I’ll take the first one,” Jazz said, offering Sentinel little room to argue. “How about two megacycles each, _boss?_ ”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure,” Sentinel said, clearly distracted as he pored over the most recent scans of Earth’s surface. “You take first shift.”

“Just said that, SP.”

“I know, but now it’s an _order._ ”

Jazz promptly decided that ignoring most of what Sentinel said would be the most beneficial for both of them, and with that, the rest of Sentinel’s words turned into an empty jumble of syllables within Jazz’s processor. He smiled thinly and headed toward the brig, trying not to think too much about the mechs he’d be guarding.

* * *

Sentinel had never been a big fan of space travel, since it made it impossibly difficult to figure out when it was time to power down, but he was slowly becoming aware that sitting in orbit was, somehow, _worse._

His shift with the prisoners had been extremely uneventful, much to his disappointment. As fun as it would have been to kick Optimus’s skidplate and finally put him in his place, the entire scraggly team of Autobots had been completely silent in his presence. Even Ratchet, who’d been throwing a terawatt-sized tantrum just hours before, had taken to sulking in his cell, occasionally shooting nasty frowns at Sentinel from across the brig.

Whatever. It was better that they were keeping their traps shut. The last thing Sentinel needed to deal with was a successful escape plan. Not that they’d succeed, of course.

Jazz had just begun his second shift with the prisoners, and Sentinel mourned the fact that he hadn’t napped during his own shift. He was already bored, watching Jetfire and Jetstorm’s life signals slowly comb through the ball of mud 200 miles below them.

“How hard is it to find a crazy Decepticon and an Autobot painted brighter than the fragging sun?” Sentinel muttered to himself, tapping on the monitor as though it would somehow encourage the twins to work more quickly.

Strange as it was to be commanding the ship currently imprisoning one of his former best friends, Sentinel couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. Ultra Magnus may have passed temporary command to him because of his rank, sure, but he was still in charge of one of the Autobots’ mightiest warships. For much longer than he cared to admit, Sentinel simply sat in the captain’s chair, staring at the expanse of space that swallowed everything in sight, basking in the grandiosity of it all.

“Sentinel Magnus,” he murmured to himself, frowning at the intonation. “ _Sentinel_ Magnus. Sentinel _Magnus._ Yeah, that’s the one. Sentinel _Magnus._ ”

It would be a long time before that name was spoken across the Commonwealth, but Sentinel was more dead-set than ever on being the one to obtain it. Rodimus was too obsessed with being in the field to ever rise above the rank of Prime, and with the current allegations against Longarm, Sentinel doubted that he’d ever be promoted for fear of a scandal. Optimus was, of course, out of the running to become Magnus—quite frankly, Sentinel was surprised that Ultra Magnus hadn’t already demoted him.

And if the twins managed to bring Blitzwing and Bumblebee into custody before Magnus even returned to the Steelhaven, Sentinel was _sure_ to get the credit for it. It had been his command, after all.

Though they were taking much longer than expected. Sentinel frowned and looked back toward the monitor, irritated to see that the two jets had recently gone into stasis, presumably tired after many hours of searching. What was taking them so long? Sure, Blitzwing’s signal was somehow masked, but Sentinel knew for a fact that both Bumblebee and Blitzwing were loudmouths. Their damn voices could probably be heard from miles away.

A strange nervousness gripped at Sentinel’s spark—what if the twins didn’t find Psycho-wing and his backstabbing buddy? This whole situation had made Ultra Magnus even more irascible than usual, and he certainly wouldn’t be thrilled to find out that Sentinel had disobeyed his orders, no matter how good Sentinel’s intentions had been. It wasn’t worse than Optimus’s idiocy on Archa Seven, obviously, but it would certainly put a rift in their working relationship.

Were the twins just too inexperienced to hunt down fugitives? Sentinel frowned, leaning closer to the monitor, silently urging the jets to get up and keep moving.

But they remained in stasis, peacefully snoozing away while Sentinel’s processor ran rampant with possibilities. Would _he_ get demoted for making such a risky decision during a tentative time in Autobot history? That would put Longarm and Rodimus _above_ him, and even worse, it would leave _Optimus_ with the title of Prime.

Sentinel chewed at the tips of his digits, glancing at his datapad, wondering if it’d be a better idea to call the twins back to the ship. They wouldn’t blab, and Jazz wouldn’t either—Sentinel would bolt his mouth shut before he’d have the chance.

The twins were experts in combat, sure, but in chasing criminals? Sentinel doubted they’d ever been trained for something like that—it wasn’t exactly part of standard Elite Guard training protocol. _Nobody_ was specifically trained for work like that, since prisoners so rarely broke free. Why would anyone bother with bounty hunters when Autobot prisons were so highly secure?

That thought lingered in Sentinel’s processor, and he glanced at his datapad, biting his tongue.

No Autobot was trained specifically for this situation. However…

“No,” Sentinel muttered to himself. “Bad idea. Stupid idea. No.”

But after another hour of watching Jetfire and Jetstorm rest, Sentinel’s gaze trailed toward his datapad again. 

He _was_ in charge of everything that happened on Steelhaven, wasn’t he? And he had a duty to the Autobot cause—bring criminals, traitors, and Decepticons to justice no matter what. Unorthodox as his idea was, it _would_ be better in the long run. Bumblebee and Blitzwing would be arrested, Sentinel would keep his rank, and the Autobots would be none the wiser. All they’d know was that Blitzwing and a traitor had been captured under Sentinel’s command.

Silence was quite inexpensive, after all. 

Sentinel’s decision was made the moment he picked up his datapad, and he glanced over his shoulder before opening an encrypted messaging session. Hopefully he still remembered the address—it’d been a long time since he’d seen it in criminal databases, but a face like that was hard to forget.

The call was slow to connect, but Sentinel was determined. He _needed_ the renegades captured under his watch. Waiting any longer would be dangerous, for the Elite Guard and for Cybertron as a whole. Sentinel’s rank staying intact was just a happy bonus.

Though that didn’t make answering the call any easier. Sentinel still twitched when the face filled his datapad, heavy shadows obscuring whatever ghastly things were certainly on the dark shelves behind him.

“Well, well, well,” a deep, hoarse voice said, his tone almost amused. “Never thought I’d get a personal call from the Elite Guard.”

“Save me the theatrics,” Sentinel said, forcing himself to hold the fiery red gaze. “I have a job for you.”

“How fun,” the mech said, each syllable dripping with sarcasm. “And I come with a hefty price tag. One that Autobots usually aren’t willing to match.”

“I can’t offer credits,” Sentinel said, “but I can offer parts. We all know you like those, don’t we?”

The mech made a contemplative sound, one that rumbled deep in his chest. “That’s the Steelhaven you’re sitting in, isn’t it, Sentinel Prime? Awfully risky of you to call me with Ultra Magnus breathing down your neck.”

“He isn’t here at the moment,” Sentinel said curtly. “The cargo hold is full of spare hardware. Are you interested or not?”

“Depends,” the mech said, looking almost bored. “What am I doing in exchange?”

“Do you know where—”

“Earth is? Yeah.”

“...Right. Two criminals are there right now, and I need them in Elite Guard custody. As long as you can keep your signal hidden from the Steelhaven scanners, and you bring them to my recruits without letting them know it was you, you can have whatever hardware you want. And their mods. I don’t care.”

The mech hummed once again, an ominous clinking sound echoing through Sentinel’s speakers. “I don’t want to pick through your scraps,” he said. “I want a gyro-stabilizer and the plasma blaster. It’s depowered, so I doubt your Magnus will miss it, will he?”

Sentinel balked for a moment. “How did you—?”

“Please. Do we have a deal or not? Just two little parts from your ship, and I’ll get your fugitives. I’ll even do you a favor, and I won’t ask _why_ you’re buying them under the table.”

Sentinel tried to ignore the painful calm with which the mech spoke. “A gyro-stabilizer and the plasma blaster, and you bring them in alive,” he reiterated, reminding himself of how wonderful the name _Sentinel Magnus_ tasted. “You’ve got a deal.”

The mech chuckled. “See you soon,” he purred. “Wrap the parts up nice with a bow for me, will you? I miss unwrapping my presents.”

Sentinel rolled his optics, but before he could make a snide remark, the mech had hung up.


	4. Chapter 4

Soft droplets of rain spattered against Bumblebee’s plating as he hoisted a collection of loaded gas cans into a more comfortable position under his arms. The air was surprisingly warm, and Bumblebee found himself glancing toward the sky, wondering how the heat of the sun could possibly push so perfectly through such a thick blanket of clouds.

A year ago, Bumblebee would’ve been whining and moaning, complaining endlessly about the lack of outlets available to charge his 3DS. But now, the gentle rain against his paint felt comforting, homey, the hushed whispers of afternoon wind through the trees providing respite rather than irritation. The endless quiet of nature, the chirping of crickets at sundown, the first warm kiss of sun at dawn—all of it reminded Bumblebee of a better time, a time when life was simpler.

Things were a lot more confusing now. But this, Bumblebee supposed— _this_ he could get used to.

“Honey, I’m home!” he called, jauntily rustling the gas cans under his arms to emphasize the swishing of liquid within the plastic. “Marco?”

“I’m not playing Marco Polo with you.” Blitzwing’s voice was calm, maybe even amused, and Bumblebee quickened his pace to reach the mech more quickly.

“You’re no fun,” Bumblebee snickered as he pushed aside a handful of branches, revealing the small clearing Blitzwing had trampled beside a steep face of rock. His spark quickened for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips as his massive beloved came into view.

Blitzwing’s plating was slick with rain—or maybe it was condensation, Bumblebee couldn’t be sure. Regardless, he was significantly more dirty than Bumblebee, flecks of mud spattered all across his front, packed deeply into the joints in his servos. He didn’t seem bothered, though, a very small grin on his face as he dropped an entire tree trunk to the ground, arms open to greet Bumblebee.

“I never have been, and I never will be, little one,” he said, cold and dry as ever. The ground shook as his tree smacked against the damp earth, and Bumblebee twitched in spite of himself. “That’s quite a bit of fuel you have. You didn’t go out of range of the signal dampener, did you?”

“Nope! Just figured I’d stock up before humans start sniffing out the drama,” Bumblebee said, quite pleased with his loot. “But yeah, there’s a gas station nearby. The guy recognized me and let me fill up some cans for free because I told him I was chasing criminals. Dope move, right?”

Blitzwing’s thin smile remained, though it did tighten slightly. “You’re still being recognized?”

“Blitzbrain, I told you, I’m gonna get recognized no matter _where_ we go,” Bumblebee said, lowering the gas cans to the ground and observing the lean-to Blitzwing was assembling with uprooted trees. “What’s with the shelter?”

_Whirr._ “It’s _raining,_ numbskull,” Blitzwing growled, his crimson face somehow seeming redder than usual. “You can sit _outside_ if you want to get _drenched._ What matters _more_ is that you need to be careful not to be seen!”

“Cool off, I was just asking!” Bumblebee said innocently, putting his hands up. “And it’s fine, okay? I promise. I’ve been on national news, like, twelve times. And I stayed in alt mode, so there’s no evidence that _I_ was actually me. And it’s not like Megatron’s gonna go asking humans about us. He hates them.”

Blitzwing glared for a moment before his face spun back to blue with a _whirr._ “I suppose,” he said slowly. “Just promise me that you will be more careful.”

“Don’t have to! As long as we’re not racing or leaking, this haul will last us another two weeks,” Bumblebee said proudly, patting his gas cans. “And the gas station’s really close by, so if you _really_ want to, we can loot it before we go.”

Blitzwing snorted. “Much as I admire your eagerness to commit crimes, we do need to lay low. This is wonderful. Thank you.”

He leaned down to gently brush his mud-caked digits against Bumblebee’s cheeks, stealing a small kiss before turning back to the lean-to. Even after all this time, Bumblebee still felt an excited flutter in his spark whenever Blitzwing kissed him, each one conveying more emotions than words could ever contain. Standing stupidly in his lighthead bliss for a moment, Bumblebee forced himself to snap out of it.

“Uh-huh,” he said dumbly, watching in admiration as Blitzwing ripped another tree from the ground with an audial-splitting _crunch._ “Need any help?”

“No,” Blitzwing grunted, hoisting the tree onto his shoulder and slamming it into place against the rocks, oblivious to Bumblebee’s enamored gaze. “You’ve helped more than enough. Take time to rest.”

Bumblebee hummed fondly to himself, lowering himself to the ground and watching as glistening flecks of water slid across Blitzwing’s frame. “You just keep doing exactly what you’re doing, okay? I’ll just sit here and rest.”

Blitzwing paused, and though his back was to Bumblebee, the minibot could practically _hear_ his smirk. “Are you ogling me again?”

Bumblebee swallowed his giggles. “I would _never._ ”

* * *

Bumblebee’s flirtatious presence certainly made it tempting for Blitzwing to quit building and tackle the little goofball, but an hour later, he was quite glad he’d stuck with the endeavor. The springtime rain was falling quite steadily now, not enough to be bothersome, but enough to soak the ground outside of the lean-to and drench the afternoon sky in a dark grey.

Blitzwing was fully aware of how much duress Bumblebee must be under, and quite frankly, he was amazed at how well the minibot was handling it. It had only been a week since Bumblebee had dashed from his old base with tears shimmering in his optics, but amazingly, his spirits seemed to be quite high. He had his quiet moments, of course, but Blitzwing had barely heard a single complaint out of him.

Under normal circumstances, Blitzwing would be suspicious, even worried. But he figured that if Bumblebee wanted to talk, he would do so, and the poor thing was surely tired of having his emotions pried out of him.

Even now, Bumblebee was skipping around outside their temporary shelter, picking handful after handful of flowers and waving them excitedly in Blitzwing’s direction. It melted Blitzwing’s spark, to see his Bumblebee wearing a smile after so many miserable months in the Autobot base, perfectly happy to be alone and lost in the woods once again.

The moment they were in was a good one. Blitzwing was certain that it wouldn’t last for much longer, but he was fully prepared to do whatever it took to preserve that smile for as long as he could.

“Leave some flowers for the insects,” Blitzwing called, rolling his optics as Bumblebee accidentally yanked an entire bushel of spindly purple daisies from the ground.

“Don’t interrupt my artistic process!” Bumblebee fired back, dusting dirt from his frame and meekly placing the flowers’ roots back into the earth. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Yellow.”

“Oh, you’re so _lame._ I love you.”

Blitzwing rolled his optics again, an affectionate smile creeping onto his face before he could stop it. Bumblebee must have noticed, because he quite quickly returned to the lean-to, soaking wet and beaming from audial to audial.

“Can we hang these up?” the minibot asked, slightly breathless, his azure optics wide.

Blitzwing let out a thoughtful noise, running his thumbs across Bumblebee’s plating, sloughing excess water from the yellow paint. “I don’t see why not,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, we’re living out in the woods again like renegades, aren’t we? We might as well make a nice living space,” Bumblebee said with a shrug.

Blitzwing paused, his digits resting on the blank spot where Bumblebee’s insignia had once been emblazoned. “Perhaps you should keep the flowers with you instead,” he said slowly. “Our next location may have different species. It would be interesting to see—”

“Next location _already?_ ” Bumblebee said, his gaze suddenly downcast, his excitement visibly deflating. “But we just moved two days ago! I thought you built this whole tree tent thingy because we were staying _here_ a little while longer.”

Blitzwing sighed, pulling Bumblebee loosely into his lap. “I know,” he said. “And unfortunately, I will have to tear it down tomorrow morning. We are still rather close to Detroit, generally speaking, and a shelter like this is far too visible from above.”

A giggle suddenly bubbled from Blitzwing’s chest, and he felt a grin tug wildly at the sides of his face. “I didn’t just leave the roots on the trees for funsies, silly!” he said, nuzzling his helm against Bumblebee’s. “Though it _was_ pretty funsies to pull them right out of the ground!”

Bumblebee sagged a little more against Blitzwing’s chest. “I guess,” he mumbled.

Blitzwing cooed pitifully, gathering Bumblebee close to his chest. “I know, bitty boy, it’s no fun,” he said, squishing the minibot against him. “But a lot of bots want to kill us very dead right now! It’s too dangerous to stay in one place, even _with_ my signal dampener. Big feet like mine leave a trail!”

Bumblebee snorted quietly. “I know,” he said, a small smile appearing on his features—a victory for Blitzwing. “It just sucks. I mean, being out here with you, _that’s_ great and all, for sure. It just sucks that we’re only together because we’re on the lam. How hard is it to just _not_ be a slag-head about who I wanna be with, huh? How _hard_ is that?”

Blitzwing forced icy composition to take over him once again, and he stroked Bumblebee’s helm, nodding. Minor outbursts like this occurred almost every day, and Blitzwing had quickly figured out that it was best for Bumblebee to just let it out.

“I know, little one,” he said soothingly.

“I wonder if they even feel bad,” Bumblebee grumbled, picking petals from a bright orange wildflower. “I bet they’re all sitting in the Elite Guard’s stupid ship, talking about how stupid they think we are.”

“I doubt that. You aren’t stupid.”

“Yeah, I am, grand scheme of things. But who cares? My stupidness shouldn’t get us _exiled._ Joke’s on them—when we bring Megatron to their front door in stasis cuffs, who’ll they call stupid _then?_ ”

Blitzwing clenched his jaw to fight back a grin. Bumblebee’s ideas for retribution had been shifting constantly between killing Megatron, living in the woods forever, single-handedly bringing Megatron to justice, and overthrowing the government; at this point, Blitzwing had very little clue what Bumblebee actually wanted to do. At the very least, he knew that whatever choice Bumblebee made would probably be equally idiotic and impossible.

And by Primus, Blitzwing would do whatever he could to support that idiotic, impossible plan.

“Things will work out, one way or another,” Blitzwing said. “At the very least, we have each other right now. No Megatron, no Autobots, no anything. I, for one, am quite grateful to be away from the everyday scrutiny.”

Another victory—Bumblebee smiled once again. “Yeah,” he said, nudging close against Blitzwing’s cockpit. “That’s one big plus, at least. Pretty much cancels out all the minuses. If Megatron shows up and tries to take that away from me, I _will_ whoop his aft into next week. Just so you know.”

“I’ll hold him down for you,” Blitzwing said.

Bumblebee’s moment of frustration seemed to have ended just as quickly as it began, and to Blitzwing’s relief, the luster in Bumblebee’s optics seemed to have returned. He craned his neck to meet Blitzwing’s gaze, grinning and pinning a flower against the glass on Blitzwing’s chest.

“Well, we’ve got fuel and we’ve got shelter for a night,” Bumblebee said, patting the flower firmly into place. “That gives us all evening to chill out. What do you wanna do?”

Blitzwing didn’t bother answering, silently counting to three. Before he had even passed ‘two,’ Bumblebee’s optics had lit up.

“Oh! I saw some cool smooth rocks earlier! Wanna play discount Jenga?” he said, bouncing rather excitedly. “I can go grab them! You won’t even have to get up, they’re right over there!”

“Go on, then,” Blitzwing said, patting Bumblebee’s helm. “I’ll be here. Don’t go too far.”

Bumblebee beamed and sprang from Blitzwing’s lap, rushing out into the rain once again. Blitzwing watched him go, tilting his chin into his hand, his spark rushing with warmth as his precious blaze of yellow slipped in the mud and fell directly on his face.

* * *

“This is the _worst game you’ve ever suggested!_ ” Blitzwing roared, slamming his fists into the just-toppled pile of stones so hard that the trees above them shook and sprinkled water on their helms.

Bumblebee clapped his hands over his mouth, trying desperately not to laugh, his chest aching from the effort. “It’s okay, Blitzbrain,” he squeaked. “Round nine?”

“ _No!_ ” Blitzwing shouted. Without warning, he seized a rock from the ground and bit down on it, snapping it cleanly in half with his gap-toothed dentae.

Bumblebee was practically tearing up as he wrestled with his giggles. “Why did you do that?” he wheezed.

“ _I don’t know! These rocks are rigged!_ ” Blitzwing yelled.

“Blitzy, they’re just r—”

“ _Shush!_ ” Blitzwing’s face abruptly spun back to blue with a _whirr,_ his monocular telescoping wildly as he restacked the stones. “ _You_ go first this time.”

“Okay.”

Bumblebee watched as Blitzwing meticulously stacked the rocks, examining each one with intense precision that nearly sent Bumblebee into a full-blown laughing fit. It was moments like these that he remembered why he’d fallen in love with Blitzwing—he was just as weird as Bumblebee was, and just as intense, but entirely in his own way. Everything about him was wonderfully ridiculous, the kind of nonsense that only Bumblebee could comprehend. And against all odds, everything weird about Blitzwing, everything that made him a disaster—those were the things Bumblebee cherished the most.

Hell, Bumblebee even loved that it took Blitzwing twenty solid minutes to stack eighteen makeshift Jenga rocks. Once he had finished, he sat back with a self-satisfied smirk, his optic narrowed with pride.

“Your turn, then,” he said.

Bumblebee shrugged and pulled a rock from the pile, grinning maliciously as Blitzwing’s faceplates twitched in irritation.

The triple changer leaned down and, with practiced precision, removed his own stone from the pile. The tower wobbled, but it held fast.

_You lose,_ Bumblebee said, trying to maintain a poker face as he removed another rock.

Six stones later, Blitzwing practically had his face pressed against the pillar of rocks, seemingly analyzing each of his options to the fullest extent. Bumblebee leaned back and watched, biting his lip in a failed attempt to conceal his grin.

“I see you smirking,” Blitzwing said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t distract me.”

“I’m just sitting—”

“Hush!”

After another five minutes, Blitzwing seemed satisfied with his choice, and his digits drifted mechanically toward the tower of rocks. Every motion was unbearably calculated, his movements more precise than Bumblebee could ever dream of. 

And yet, as the stone was freed from its stacked prison, the tower came tumbling down. Bumblebee burst out in laughter as Blitzwing’s face spun to red, his visor flashing with all of the violence of a lightning strike.

“ _Rigged!_ ” he screamed, punching the rocks into the ground. “This game is _rigged!_ Stop _laughing at me, bug!_ ”

“I’m sorry!” Bumblebee laughed, wiping tears from his optics. “You’re just bad at this! It’s kinda funny!”

“I will _throw you in a lake!_ ”

“I _dare you to!_ ”

Bumblebee’s laughter turned into a hysterical shriek as Blitzwing pounced on him, his small servos providing little protection as the triple changer wrapped him in a headlock and jabbed at his helm. Bumblebee’s laughter was unstoppable, as he was completely aware of how delicate Blitzwing was being, but the act of false violence somehow made his frenzied laughter even more uproarious.

“Ready to get _dunked,_ insect?” Blitzwing growled, chomping lightly at Bumblebee’s helm.

“Mercy! Mercy!” Bumblebee said, clawing playfully against Blitzwing’s grip. “No more Jenga! _Mercy!_ ”

Blitzwing’s grip relaxed, but before Bumblebee could enjoy his freedom, he was whirled around and yanked into a rough kiss. He falsely struggled for a moment before melting into it, smiling devilishly as he bit down firmly on Blitzwing’s lower lip.

Held this tightly, Bumblebee could feel the pulse of Blitzwing’s spark quicken. The triple changer withdrew regardless, his visor so close that Bumblebee could see the golden optics narrowed behind it.

“Oh, _you’re_ pouting?” Blitzwing hissed. “ _You’re_ not the one who lost Jenga ten times to a _twerp._

Bumblebee winked. “Wanna make it eleven times, big guy?”

“I’d rather _go offline._ ”

As Blitzwing pulled him in once again, all of Bumblebee’s frustration from earlier dissolved, vanishing into some recess of Bumblebee’s processor that he, fortunately, couldn’t access. Blitzwing was right—for now, they had each other, and that was all that mattered. Sure, the world was probably going to turn upside down someday, but Bumblebee was happy to ignore the world if it meant spending every day with Blitzwing, just like this. All they needed was fuel, each other, and maybe a better Jenga set.


	5. Chapter 5

Life had been a strange mess of events from the moment Optimus had become an Elite Guard cadet, yet somehow, this was definitely one of the strangest situations he’d ever been in.

Imprisonment was far more boring than he ever would have anticipated. Not that Optimus was particularly looking forward to any more excitement, especially given what constituted “excitement” recently, but he couldn’t help but be amazed at just how _dull_ it was to be behind bars.

Trying to keep his processor as sharp as possible, Optimus had at least nailed down one absolute: the atmosphere of the brig was drastically different depending on who was currently on guard duty. Any kind of conversation was incredibly rare, as Optimus and his team had quickly taken to sitting silently with their own thoughts, but even without words, the tension during Sentinel’s guard shifts was so palpable that it could be cut with an axe. 

It wasn’t that Sentinel _said_ anything inflammatory. But somehow, his very presence seemed to ruin even slightly elevated moods. Ratchet had barely spoken a word in the past few days, saving his energy to instead stare across the room with an oddly blank expression, and even he scowled slightly when Sentinel entered the brig.

Maybe it was his personal bias, or maybe it was the smug glimmer lingering in Sentinel’s optics—either way, Optimus couldn’t help but sigh quietly when the shifts swapped and Sentinel strolled into the room.

Optimus watched as he took his post at the back of the room, cocking his helm slightly. Sentinel seemed to have a fresh swing in his step, one that hadn’t been there the night before, and Optimus had to actively force himself not to overanalyze it.

_He probably just had someone agree with him on a phone call,_ Optimus thought, purposefully avoiding Sentinel’s gaze just to keep his mood in check. 

His optics slowly moved to Ratchet, who was apparently too zoned out to be bothered by the start of Sentinel’s shift. Ratchet had definitely been the one with the most drastic shift in behavior, the fight draining out of him every hour, leaving him as little more than a bitter, silent shell of his former self. Optimus certainly didn’t want him to argue with everyone in sight anymore, but it was quite eerie, seeing the sarcastic and cynical medic reduced to complete silence.

Optimus tried to wonder what was going on inside his processor, but he didn’t even know where to begin. Ratchet’s expression left no room for interpretation, almost calculated in how blank it was—maybe that was on purpose?

Bulkhead, at least, seemed to have kept his spirit. He’d taken Bumblebee’s place as the new chatterbox of the team, though that wasn’t saying much, given that Optimus had only heard a few sentences from him in the past day. Or maybe it’d been longer—it was hard to keep track of time in a light-controlled environment, especially one where everyone seemed to be on completely different sleep schedules.

Obviously worried and riddled with guilt about what he’d said to Bumblebee, Bulkhead had come up with a few feeble escape plans, his undying hope keeping his spirits at least somewhat high. But every plan had been immediately shot down by Prowl, whose only words recently had been “shut up” and “no.”

Optimus had tried to intervene, supporting Bulkhead’s misguided plans as much as he could, but Prowl seemed to have resigned entirely to their situation. He sat motionless at almost every hour of the day, his visor dim as it rested before closed optics, usually appearing to either be in stasis or deep in meditation. Optimus didn’t blame him, hoping that wherever Prowl’s processor was, it was better than a featureless jail cell.

Though, for once, something broke the monotony—a quick chirping sound, one that made Sentinel’s servo fly to his datapad.

Optimus’s brow furrowed as Sentinel glanced over his datapad, his face so stern and clear that it was most certainly an act of some kind. He cleared his throat, surveying the prisoners and tucking his datapad away.

“I’ll be right back,” Sentinel said, optics shining with something Optimus hadn’t seen in quite some time—was it greed? “No funny business while I’m gone. I’ll just be a cycle.”

No one spoke as Sentinel strode pompously from the room, but the silence was quickly broken by a slight shuffling as Bulkhead sat upright.

“What was that about?” he asked, his voice as hushed as Optimus had ever heard it.

“Probably a report from someone,” Optimus said with a shrug, hoping to shut the conversation down before it got too heated. “Nothing we need to worry about.”

“Right, right. Well, now that Sentinel’s gone,” Bulkhead said, “I noticed something on the ceiling. We each have a vent above us, right? So if we get a—”

“Don’t start.” Prowl’s voice was somehow both razor sharp and soft as cotton, a dangerous combination for the ninjabot.

_So much for not arguing,_ Optimus thought, grimacing.

Bulkhead’s frame puffed up slightly, his optics narrowing. “Are you saying you haven’t been working on breaking out of here?” he said. “Because that’s all I’ve been doing this whole time!”

“No, I haven’t,” Prowl said through clenched dentae. “We’re not escaping. Stop tricking yourself into thinking we can.”

Optimus came _very_ close to beating his helm against the wall. “Prowl, no need to be hostile,” he said, his voice far more strained than he would have liked. “If it makes Bulkhead feel better to think about breaking out, then I don’t—”

“—See an issue letting him delude himself?” Prowl said. “Well, _I_ do. You can’t rescue him, Bulkhead, even if we _did_ escape. Find something else to think about.”

Bulkhead visibly deflated, and Optimus bit his tongue hard. “Come on, Prowl,” he said. “That’s not—”

“He’s my _best friend,_ ” Bulkhead said, completely ignoring Optimus and leaning angrily against his glass prison. “What’s wrong with me wanting to help him?”

“ _He doesn’t want your help,_ ” Prowl said, his visor brightening as his optics flashed open. “I’m not saying that to be mean. I’m saying it because it’s true.”

“I’ve known him for ages!” Bulkhead said. “What makes you think you know him better than I do?”

“I never said I did.”

“Yeah, you did!”

“I decidedly did _not._ ”

“ _Yeah, you—_ ”

“Would you all put a sock in it?” Ratchet said, his voice hoarse from lack of use, startling all of them. “None of that matters. What matters right now is getting our names cleared. Which we _will_ do, eventually. So _quit bickering._ ”

Bulkhead looked downright offended, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s mostly _your_ fault that we’re in here, you know!” he said indignantly. “You’re the one who said we had to tattle to the Elite Guard in the first place!”

“At least I was _open_ about not trusting Blitzwing,” Ratchet said snidely. “Unlike _you,_ lying at the last minute.”

Bulkhead stood up, his plating clattering as he shook. “ _Who do you—_ ”

“That’s enough!” Optimus interjected, shoving his face into his palms. “We’re not going to accomplish anything by getting mad at each other.”

To Optimus’s surprise, Bulkhead laughed harshly, shaking his helm. “Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “All you had to do was say _yes, I do trust you, Bumblebee._ If anyone made him run away, it’s you!”

“That’s _enough,_ ” Optimus managed, his dentae gritting hard. “Blaming each other isn’t going to do _anything._ Let’s just do what Ratchet said and wait until our names are cleared, and then—”

“Right,” Prowl grumbled. “Sitting and waiting until the last minute has worked out _great_ for us. Let’s do _more_ of that.”

Optimus sighed. “A little optimism wouldn’t kill you, Prowl.”

“Being optimistic usually requires a leader who actually _does_ something. And you wonder why I prefer working alone.”

“Oh, so we’re back to _that_ attitude?” Optimus snapped. “You do know that you’re involved in this no matter how hard you—”

The door to the brig abruptly slid open, and Optimus’s voice died as Sentinel walked back in, relaxed as ever. He smirked slightly as he made his way to his post, catching Optimus’s gaze before he could look away.

“What are you grunts chatting about?” Sentinel said amusedly. “The weather? Oh—sorry. No weather in prison.”

Optimus had never been so close to bashing his helm against the wall until it split in half, but to his relief, he _somehow_ managed not to.

* * *

Though Prowl was adept at keeping his processor blissfully blank, he did attempt to keep some sort of awareness about the goings-on around him. 

For example, Jazz and Sentinel were taking shifts in increments of two megacycles each. Prowl wasn’t certain as to why Jetfire and Jetstorm were exempt from guard duty, but his best assumption was that they were with Ultra Magnus. Prowl had felt something large detach from the Steelhaven a few days ago, presumably Ultra Magnus in an escape pod, though he wasn’t sure why the twins would have gone with him.

He didn’t let it bother him too much, though. At this point, Prowl had resigned to his imprisonment and was trying to make the best of it. He’d spent hours upon hours recalling information about Megatron, wondering what kind of destruction he could be bringing upon Earth, seeking out the new triple changer’s weaknesses with the limited information he’d managed to keep within his processor.

Which, sadly, wasn’t much. But Prowl knew he wasn’t at fault for any of this. He only hoped that, for Megatron’s sake, Earth wasn’t being put into any imminent danger.

_That,_ above all, would not be forgiven. Prowl would not fail to protect something so precious ever again.

Jazz’s presence teased at the edges of Prowl’s consciousness, and he drew in a deep breath of relief. Meditating around Sentinel was nothing short of a chore, but Jazz carried with him an aura of sensibility, one that numbed the sores left behind by Sentinel’s, for lack of a better word, _bad vibes._ Something about Sentinel just put Prowl’s teeth on edge, keeping Prowl locked away from the calm that lay just beyond his reach.

But not Jazz. Prowl exhaled slowly, letting his vents expand and relax, pulling the air through his systems.

Darkness and color bloomed within Prowl’s closed optics, and he relished in the momentary ability to think clearly without distraction. Was it out of line for him to snap at Bulkhead earlier? Perhaps, but Prowl couldn’t fault himself for wanting his freedom back. The future—Yoketron had insisted that Prowl focus on the future, not on the past, and that’s what Prowl intended to do.

Maybe he could break out of this prison with processor-over-matter, like Bulkhead had suggested. But the focus it would take, the massive amount of concentration—Prowl had never come _close_ to anything of that magnitude.

That was the only upside of being in prison: plenty of time to meditate and practice.

Though Prowl’s focus began to waver, Optimus’s voice eating at the edges of his processor despite how much Prowl wanted to ignore it. Would he _ever_ get a moment of proper silence to look inward? Irritated, Prowl allowed himself to step back from his meditative state for a moment, opening his audials to the words knocking around the room.

“He _left?_ ” Optimus said.

Jazz’s pedes shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t tell SP I told you, you dig? But he said he had stuff on Cybertron to deal with. I can’t say more than that.”

“Ultra Magnus?” Prowl said, opening his optics, unable to resist his craving for context.

Jazz’s visor flashed briefly, a small nod tilting his helm up and down once. “Yeah,” he said. “But Sentinel’s running a tight ship up front. I can’t do anything about it.”

“But you _know_ that we didn’t have any part in this,” Optimus said, his tone insistent. “We know Megatron better than anyone right now. I’d bet anything that he’s hunting for Bumblebee just as much as Magnus is.”

Jazz sighed, his understanding written all over his body language, but his tone was firm. “I know,” he said. “But you know how Sentinel is. Magnus made orders, and Sentinel’s going to follow them. To a fault, even.”

“Just convince him that it was _his_ idea, then!” Bulkhead chimed in, leaning against the glass walls of his prison once again. “He’ll eat it up if you do that.”

“He might be dim, but he’s not an idiot,” Jazz said, sounding almost amused. “And I’m not a master manipulator or anything. Besides, I have my own orders. You know that.”

Prowl put the pieces together almost instantly—Optimus had asked Jazz to set them free. And clearly, it wasn’t working. Prowl wanted to be frustrated, but he understood where Jazz was coming from, in a way. Jazz wanted to do what was right, but just like the rest of them, even _he_ didn’t know what the right thing was anymore.

“We’re going stir-crazy in here,” Optimus pressed. “Megatron is on the loose, and Primus only knows where he is anymore. He could be tearing the planet apart at this rate.”

“We’re monitoring human news to keep an optic out for disasters,” Jazz said. “Trust me. If there’s any blip of Megatron on our radar, we’re on top of it.”

“You only have one set of optics, then,” Optimus said. “If you let us out, even if we’re on probation, that’s four more mechs on the front lines. Right, Ratchet?”

Ratchet huffed. “I already told you not to drag me into this.”

“Listen, I get what you’re saying, I do,” Jazz said weakly. “I don’t like keeping you locked in here either. But the situation out there—it’s way beyond any of us right now. Best thing we can do is wait for Magnus to sort things out and bring reinforcements.”

“Jazz,” Prowl said softly. “You’ve _seen_ Earth. It’s one of the most naturally beautiful planets I’ve ever seen. The life down there—we can’t let it be risked on uncertainty.”

Jazz looked at Prowl with pity written all over his face, and Prowl’s tanks flipped over slightly.

“I know where you’re coming from, Prowl,” he said with such earnesty that Prowl couldn’t even begin to dispute it. “But you’ve gotta put a little faith in your current situation instead of wishing for a new one, you know?”

Prowl bit his lip in frustration.

“I know Earth is in the scrapheap right now,” Jazz continued sympathetically. “But there isn’t anything any of us can do about that, not for the time being. It’s best that you all go through the trial process and be cleared of your ‘crimes’ instead of becoming fugitives, right? Just imagine how crazy Sentinel would go if he had _more_ of you to chase around. And if you’re innocent, trial’s not a problem.”

“You sound like Sentinel,” Bulkhead grumbled.

Jazz shuddered comically, a small grin playing at the corners of his lips. “That’s cold,” he said. “But even Sentinel makes sense once in a while. I know you’re all in the clear. But if you bust out of prison, it’s all of our asses on the line. And that’s no good for you _or_ the planet, because you _know_ Sentinel would burn it from the ground up to hunt you all down.”

Prowl hated every minute of this conversation, and he took a silent moment to regret ever joining it. But he knew Jazz was right, unfortunate as the truth might’ve been—they had to make the best of where they were. Even if that place was prison.

“Right,” Optimus said, catching Prowl by surprise. “Jazz, can you do us one favor, then?”

“Within reason, yeah. Absolutely.”

“Can you not tell Sentinel anything you hear us talking about?”

Jazz shrugged. “I didn’t even know we were talking right now. I’ve never talked to any of you about anything.”

Optimus grinned, turning to meet Prowl’s gaze. “Then we have two megacycles every day to start planning what we do when we get acquitted,” he said, a fresh surge of confidence bringing color back into his face. “First step, we talk about how to deal with the trial we’re going to be in.”

Ratchet turned his helm ever so slightly, his optics still narrowed but brighter than Prowl had seen them in quite some time. “Harboring a traitor is a nasty crime,” he said slowly. “But there might be some loopholes, if we can all agree on a story.”

“We _did_ alert the Elite Guard to Blitzwing’s location,” Optimus said. “Which shows that we withdrew our support.”

Bulkhead frowned. “But we didn’t _exactly_ tell them that we had Blitzwing.”

“Because it was too risky,” Prowl said thoughtfully.

“What?” Bulkhead said. “But we—”

“Bulkhead, we’re spinning this story in _our_ favor,” Ratchet said, turning around fully to face the rest of the team. “First step, prove our innocence. Second step comes later. We can’t be tryin’ to plan everything all at once.”

Jazz suddenly coughed loudly, and Prowl shut his optics, sinking back to the edge of his cell as the air wound into a strained knot. Sentinel was back, far sooner than Prowl would have wanted, but renewed hope kept his mental walls clear of Sentinel’s negativity.

Teamwork was frustrating, and Prowl deeply suspected that all of this may be a waste of time. But at the very least, Prowl _was_ doing what Yoketron always wanted him to do—make the best of the present to manifest a better future.

He only hoped it wouldn’t be in vain.


	6. Chapter 6

“No slagging way,” Bumblebee said with a small laugh, his pedes thumping against the dirt. “That looks _nothing_ like a chicken.”

“As if!” Blitzwing said indignantly, pointing at the cloud with more insistence, the warm glow of his spark tugging his smile even wider. “That’s the chicken-y-est chicken I’ve ever seen in my life!”

“Oh, yeah? Why does it have two heads?”

“That’s its _tail,_ silly buggy boy!”

“Next to its _head?_ ”

Bumblebee’s laughter was like music to Blitzwing’s audials, and he took a moment to simply savor the sound, unsure if he could possibly grin any more.

Time had lost its meaning long ago, and it seemed like just yesterday, Blitzwing had been pointing at a cloudy grey sky, insisting that Bumblebee find shapes with him. Everything had been so confusing, Blitzwing’s spark brimming with feelings that he couldn’t comprehend no matter how hard he tried.

How could he have been so obviously emotional, yet not been able to understand that he’d been falling in love?

Though there wasn’t much point in reminiscing, Blitzwing supposed—no matter how strange their meeting had been, Blitzwing knew how he felt now. And he ached for the day that he could feel calm like this, forever, watching Bumblebee laugh until tears streamed down his cheeks.

“If it’s not a chicken, what is it?” Blitzwing said, casting his gaze back to the sky, searching for more shapes amongst the clouds.

“It’s obviously a cat! Duh!”

Blitzwing rolled his optics, his smile thinning but remaining plastered on his face. “A cat with two heads?” he said dryly. “What was your phrasing… ‘as if?’”

“It’s just the head,” Bumblebee said, his yellow servo injecting itself into Blitzwing’s vision, prodding insistently at the clouds that floated miles away. “See? Those are its ears, and _that’s_ the rest of it! Aren’t you supposed to have really good visual receptors, with your telescope eyeball or whatever?”

“That’s not how it works,” Blitzwing said.

“Yeah?” Bumblebee’s face suddenly appeared in front of Blitzwing’s, and the triple changer blinked in surprise, cocking his helm.

“May I help you?” he asked flatly as Bumblebee hovered above him, his smile wide and soft.

“Just making sure you’re not blind,” Bumblebee said with a shrug. “‘Cause that cloud looks so much like a cat, only a blind mech wouldn’t be able to see it.”

Blitzwing sneered for a moment before wrapping his hands tightly around the back of Bumblebee’s neck, squeezing with just enough force to offer a playful threat. “Are you mocking me, twit?” he growled.

Bumblebee’s optics flashed, but his smile remained. “What if I am?”

Blitzwing chuckled, shaking his helm, his lips widening into a mischievous grin in spite of himself. “You’ll be in trouble if you are, insect,” he said, pulling Bumblebee closer.

“I sure hope so,” Bumblebee said.

Blitzwing smirked, pulling the minibot just inches from his face before abruptly spinning him around, extracting a surprised yelp from Bumblebee’s vocalizer. “Look at that cloud and tell me it looks like a feline,” Blitzwing said, his grin widening once again, giggles bursting from his chest. “Go on! See what happens!”

“Put me down!”

“So you admit it doesn’t look like a kitty?”

“No! It _does,_ you big, blind dummy! Just _look—_ hey!”

Bumblebee’s laugh soon mingled with Blitzwing’s, and he thrashed around wildly as Blitzwing tickled his sides. “Stop!” Bumblebee shrieked. “Stop! _Stop it!_ ”

“Say it’s not a cat!”

“It _is_ a cat!”

“More tickling? Is that what you said?”

“ _No!_ ”

Bumblebee’s laughter was soon equally as intense as Blitzwing’s, but Blitzwing refused to put him down, thoroughly enjoying the warm weight of his beloved against his palms. He pretended to ignore the thrashing bot, peering at the sky and clicking his tongue.

“If that’s a cat, it’s the ugliest one I’ve ever seen in my life,” Blitzwing mused as Bumblebee tried to pry his digits apart. “And I’ve seen some _ugly_ cats.”

“ _Put me down!_ ”

“Hm? Did you say something? No? Good, because I was just saying—I once saw a cat in the park that—”

Blitzwing paused, his entire frame stalling to a halt as he stared at the sky, all amusement washing out of his frame as though he’d just been injected with ice. He narrowed his optics, his smile vanishing, his monocular twitching as he watched the sky intensely.

“Blitzy?” Bumblebee’s voice said, somewhere outside of Blitzwing’s consciousness. “Hey—you good?”

It had only been there for a moment, but every sensor in Blitzwing’s frame had started firing red-hot warning signals. High, high above the clouds, Blitzwing had _sworn_ that he’d seen a burst of light, almost imperceptible, lasting only a millisecond at most. His spark was pounding, all power redirecting to his optics as though his life depended on it.

“Blitzy, what’s wrong?”

Surely it had been an optical illusion, a flare of light within the lenses of his optics. But despite how much he wanted to brush it off, Blitzwing couldn’t stop staring at the sky, waiting for _something,_ though he wasn’t certain what.

“Blitz—”

“Quiet for a moment,” Blitzwing said shortly, lowering Bumblebee to the ground and sitting upright.

In his peripheral vision, Blitzwing saw the minibot cock his helm, clenching at fistfuls of grass. Mercifully, he stayed silent.

Blitzwing continued staring, waiting with bated breath for any inconsistencies to appear. Surely, he was overreacting—surely, it had simply been a trick of the optic, set off by Blitzwing’s heightened nerves. _Everything_ out of the ordinary made him anxious these days, his entire processor dominated with the need to keep Bumblebee safe. For frag’s sake, he’d gotten startled by an _airplane_ just yesterday, temporarily convinced that the damn thing had been a Decepticon.

He was just about to relax his frame when he saw it: a slight ripple in a distant cirrus cloud, as though the air around it had suddenly compressed and shimmered. It lasted barely a second, but every piston in Blitzwing’s frame rapidly released, and he sprang to his pedes at record speed.

“We need to go,” he said, leaning down to grab Bumblebee’s arm. “ _Now._ ”

“What?” Bumblebee staggered forward as Blitzwing set a breakneck pace, every cylinder in his frame firing as fast as possible. “Blitzwing, what’s—ow—what’s wrong?”

“Lockdown,” Blitzwing said, hauling Bumblebee toward their temporary base in a grove of trees. 

“What? Blitzy—” 

Blitzwing gritted his dentae and lifted Bumblebee into his arms, his pedes thumping against the hard forest floor as he bolted toward the base, smacking tree branches out of his way frantically. _Impossible,_ he thought, optics narrowing. _Who? Megatron? I assumed he would be hunting for us himself—is he truly this desperate?_

“ _Blitzwing,_ ” Bumblebee said again, his voice even more bewildered as Blitzwing dropped him into their base, pushing him toward their stash of fuel. “What’s going _on_ with you?”

“Gather all of your things _now,_ ” Blitzwing said sternly, swiping his yellow daffodil into his subspace—the one Bumblebee had picked for him just days ago, without a care in the world. “I need to destroy this base.”

“ _Blitzwing,_ ” Bumblebee said, his hands planting firmly on his hips. “Tell me _what’s wrong._ ”

Blitzwing let out an exasperated sigh, rushing toward the fuel cans and jamming them into his subspace. “We’re being hunted,” he said.

“Well, _yeah,_ ” Bumblebee said, finally obliging and gathering his own armfuls of fuel. “We’ve got every bot on the planet looking for us right—”

“ _No,_ ” Blitzwing said. “Well—yes—but he’s different.”

“ _Who?_ ”

“His name is Lockdown,” Blitzwing said, grunting as he swept a felled tree into his arms and replanted it with utmost haste. “He’s a bounty hunter.”

Bumblebee made a strange sound, caught somewhere between a panicked laugh and an awful choke. “A _what?_ ”

“I have seen his ship enter an atmosphere before,” Blitzwing said gravely, replanting another tree. “He’s close.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Bumblebee said, his voice strained.

“No, you didn’t. His ship is equipped with Vandarian cloaking technology. It can become _invisible._ All I saw was the distortion—the cloak has a tendency to ripple in direct light.”

“Oh,” Bumblebee said, his voice cracking violently. “That’s not good.”

“No. Not at all.”

“How—how do you know that?”

“Because I have used his contracting services before.”

“ _Oh._ Well, um—yikes?”

“Yikes indeed,” Blitzwing said, slamming the final tree into the ground and whirling to face Bumblebee. “Do you have everything?”

Bumblebee nodded, his optics shimmering with what might have been tears—something that, unfortunately, Blitzwing couldn’t address at the moment. “Yeah,” the minibot said. “Got your flower?”

“Of course,” Blitzwing said, taking Bumblebee’s hand in his own and pulling at it gently. “Come. We need to move somewhere without traces of our stay.”

“Y-yeah—uh, north. We’ve been going east for a while, so changing directions would be good, in case he does get our trail—right?”

“Perfect,” Blitzwing said, his spark swelling with momentary pride before quickly striding to the north. “We’ll need to move at least a few miles before stopping for the night. Is that alright?”

“Yeah.”

Bumblebee’s optics were wide with confusion and fear, but Blitzwing couldn’t spare the time to comfort him, walking as fast as he could without leaving obvious prints in the ground. Bumblebee followed suit, keeping his movements light, occasionally glancing over his shoulder as though worried that Lockdown was right behind them.

They moved in silence for over a mile before Bumblebee spoke, his voice heavy and strained. “So this Lockdown guy—I’m gonna guess he’s good, since we’re moving this fast?”

“I’m afraid he is,” Blitzwing said darkly. “He has been contracted by Megatron on multiple occasions, mostly to hunt down traitors or specialized weaponry. In all my years working alongside Megatron, I have _never_ seen Lockdown return empty handed.”

“So you think Megatron sent him?” Bumblebee panted, squeezing Blitzwing’s servo hard.

Blitzwing squeezed back, firmly refusing to let go, even if only for a moment. “I suspected that Megatron would act selfishly and hunt for us alone, but I suppose I was wrong,” he said. “You are not to leave my sight, understood? We cannot stay in any place for more than one day, and we cannot leave any traces of ourselves behind. And I cannot take to the air for reconnaissance—Lockdown is, unfortunately, familiar with my frame type.”

Bumblebee’s pace slowed for a moment, and it broke Blitzwing’s spark—he knew just how frustrated Bumblebee had been with their constant movements, but there was no way around it now. 

“I know,” he interjected before Bumblebee could say anything. “It will not be fun. But we _need_ to stay safe. Think of it as more sightseeing.”

“Can’t we just beat him up or something?” Bumblebee said. “I mean, he’s just one bot, right?”

“Correct, but his ship is more heavily equipped than any warship I’ve ever seen. Five cannons, cloaking technology, the ability to fully disguise the ship, his trophy room—it’s not worth the risk.”

“Oh, jeez—do I even _want_ to know what you mean by _trophy room?_ ”

“I doubt it.”

Bumblebee was silent for another mile, and Blitzwing hated it more than anything. They’d just begun settling into their new nomadic lifestyle, and _Lockdown_ had showed up. Blitzwing supposed that they were incredibly lucky to have been cloud-gazing at the moment Lockdown entered the atmosphere, but that didn’t push down the incredible guilt seizing at his insides.

All Bumblebee had wanted was a peaceful life with Blitzwing, and they were getting hunted from every possible angle. Was it truly so difficult to live a life of solitude? Blitzwing gritted his dentae hard, fighting off the wave of red that threatened his systems—now was not the time to get angry.

“I’m sorry,” he said, slowing his pace temporarily to properly meet Bumblebee’s gaze. “I know this only makes things worse, but I—”

“It’s fine,” Bumblebee said, shocking Blitzwing with a grim smile. “I mean, I knew what we were getting into when we went for the whole ‘fugitive’ route. As long as I’ve got you and some fuel, it’s all good, right?”

The minibot never failed to amaze Blitzwing. Never before had he met someone with such mental fortitude, with enough optimism to power him through even the worst of situations. Blitzwing couldn’t help but crack a small smile.

“True,” he said. “But I know we—”

“Blitzy, _don’t,_ ” Bumblebee interrupted. “Nothing we can do about it. Lockdown’ll leave eventually, because there’s no way in hell he’s gonna find us. We’re too smart and awesome.”

Blitzwing drew in a deep breath. “Right,” he said, hating the doubt that flooded through his lines. “Come on, now. Let’s see if we can make it another five miles before sundown.”

* * *

Earth was even more disgusting from a distance.

Megatron scowled as he looked at the swirling mass of blue, tapping his pedes impatiently against the ground. Everything about this planet was plucking at his last nerve—not only was the moon annoyingly far away from Earth, but the outer rim of the planet was caked with debris that had been quite irritating to fly around. Megatron was, quite frankly, amazed that the organics hadn’t yet figured out how to clear their orbital debris—how stupid were these humans, if they couldn’t clean their own atmosphere?

He only hoped none of it would hit the Steelhaven before he reached it.

Fortunately, Steelhaven was visible in the distance, approaching the moon rather quickly due to the difference in their respective sizes. Megatron had not been keen to fly all the way to the moon for analysis on the ship, but its blueprints had proved remarkably difficult to locate. Shockwave had been trying to obtain them, but with Ultra Magnus travelling across the galaxy, access to military documents was heavily restricted.

Which meant Megatron needed to take matters into his own hands. Fortunately, flying to the moon had been relatively easy once he’d escaped Earth’s gravitational pull, and gravity was proving to be incredibly low. 

Megatron chuckled to himself as he strolled around the miniscule moon, shaking his helm. The humans hadn’t even populated this rock yet. Useless, the lot of them were. Once he had Cybertron under his command, he fully intended to demolish this mudball of a planet, if only out of spite.

Perhaps he’d keep the moon around, though. As he transformed into helicopter mode and jetted from the dusty ground, he surmised that it _could_ prove to be a suitable military base. Securing locations across the galaxy would be necessary if he intended to keep the Autobot resistance in check, after all.

Severe impatience was a relatively new feeling for Megatron, and he indulged it by flying through the thin atmosphere, keeping his scanners open for any signs of human intervention. He doubted they had more than a few rovers up here, selfishly focusing their attention on their own planet instead of their own.

Idiots—that’s what humans were. Megatron couldn’t believe he’d managed to stay sane on their planet for this long.

It was a welcome surprise when an energy signature showed up on his radar, and Megatron’s steadily increasing boredom vanished in an instant. Something was here—something _Cybertronian,_ no less. 

Megatron banked eagerly in the direction of the signal, needing only to fly for a few cycles before the source of the signal came into view. The sight made Megatron laugh aloud, nostalgia and irritation colliding uncomfortably in his processor. Without a second thought, he shifted back to his root mode and slammed into the ground, still chuckling to himself.

The Nemesis. Who would’ve thought?

It was completely reasonable to assume that his old warship would have crashed here, all those stellar cycles ago. It was a wasteland, destroyed beyond repair, its metal walls rotting with age, but Megatron felt a strange warmth when he looked at it.

He laughed harder. How stupid he’d been, letting this ship go to waste. If he’d been able to fly this _now,_ an unstoppable frame in an unstoppable warship, he could only imagine the fear he’d instill in his enemies.

Though Megatron’s laughter cut short when he heard sounds coming from inside the ship.

They were faint, distant, and it was more than likely that bits of the ship were simply decomposing and clattering against one another. But with the Steelhaven still a few hours away, Megatron saw no harm in investigating. If humans had found this ship, they would certainly steal its technology, and they simply didn’t deserve to have it.

His footfalls were light as he walked into the remains of the Nemesis, barely making a sound without the burden of gravity holding him down. Darkness enveloped Megatron’s frame quite quickly, the massive ship swallowing him and bathing him in shadow, but he was unbothered by it. In fact, he rather enjoyed the drama, and he chuckled once again, shaking his helm at his own foolishness.

The sounds were coming from the cargo hold, a rather easy-to-access part of the ship. Megatron had no trouble navigating the ruins, the layout of the ship burned into his processor, never to be erased. He’d spent many, _many_ stellar cycles here—how could he possibly forget about the secret passageways, the endless shortcuts?

Sentimentality had gripped Megatron so fiercely that when he saw Starscream, he was merely disappointed rather than furious.

So _this_ is where his slimy SIC had been hiding all this time. Coward. Megatron’s helm slowly tilted as he gazed into the cargo hold, watching the shadowy mech jet through the cargo hold, muttering quietly to himself.

Megatron couldn’t hear what he was saying, nor did he fully understand what the Seeker was _doing._ Starscream had never shown much interest in the stolen protoforms before—Megatron, even, had hardly remembered that they were here. But yet, Starscream seemed incredibly focused on them now, hauling one from its enclosure and propping it against a wall with a sickening smirk.

The fool hadn’t even heard Megatron enter. For some reason, that deeply annoyed Megatron, and he narrowed his optics as Starscream began prodding at his forehead as though deep in thought.

Megatron stomped hard on the ground and raised his fusion cannon, filling it with charge in an instant. “What brings you here, Starscream?” he asked coolly.

Starscream’s reaction was far more entertaining than Megatron could have ever dreamed of. The Seeker leapt ten feet in the air and whirled around with a pathetic screeching sound, dropping something from between his digits as he nearly slammed his helm into the ceiling. Megatron couldn’t help but snicker, his grin widening.

“L-Lord Megatron!” Starscream said, his nasally voice scratching hard against the last shreds of Megatron’s patience. “I—I—you look well! I am—I’m so glad to see you! It’s been so—”

“What are you doing?” Megatron said, staring ferociously at Starscream, his frame tingling with anticipation.

“I—well, that’s a bit of a funny story, actually,” Starscream said, dropping to his knees in an embarrassing mockery of a bow. “You see, I was—I was very interested in returning to your Lordship with—um—means of an apology! I fear my past has given you the, eh, the wrong _impression_ of me, and—”

“Are you referring to your repeated attempts at murdering me?” Megatron said dryly. “ _Failed_ attempted, I might add.”

Starscream laughed nervously, his optics wide with panic. “You could call it that, yes, I suppose,” he muttered to the ground. “B-but I only came here with the purest of intentions! Really! I wanted to—”

“What’s that on the ground, Starscream?” Megatron said, gesturing to the small glimmer of white that had tumbled from the terrified Seeker’s servo.

Starscream looked toward it, shrugging and letting out another high-pitched laugh. “No idea,” he said. “Looks rather like a moon rock, don’t you think? I’ll just—”

He reached toward it with a trembling hand, but Megatron needed to take only a few steps forward before he was able to kick the Seeker’s servo aside. Keeping his cannon trained on Starscream, Megatron leaned down and picked up the mysterious crystal, twirling it between his digits.

“Well, well,” he said smoothly, recognizing the shard immediately. “This looks rather like the Allspark, wouldn’t you say?”

“D-d-d-does it?” Starscream stammered. “Well, it’s pretty small—probably just a moon rock, like I s-s-said! Y-your frame looks a little different—have you been working out? You look—”

Bored by the Seeker’s rambling, Megatron fired his fusion cannon, discharging it directly into Starscream’s helm. Starscream didn’t even get a chance to scream, his helm exploding with a burst of white light, shards of shrapnel ripping through the air and lodging into the empty protoforms. Megatron shielded his face casually as energon spurted from Starscream’s headless body, watching as the corpse toppled to the ground with a crash.

As the dust settled, Megatron was unsurprised to see sprinkles of white powder mixed with the gobs of energon and shattered remains of Starscream’s helm. Of course—the Allspark. The great, immortal Starscream had only been kept alive by the Allspark, which had presumably been inside his helm. He glanced at the small fragment in his palm, pressing his lips together in irritation. The damn thing was far too small to be useful. Whatever Starscream had planned for it was clearly idiotic and low-power, which made this piece an utter waste.

Megatron took a moment to watch Starscream, kicking his headless frame to make sure it wouldn’t sit up once again. It, of course, did not—it was a pity, to destroy a piece of the Allspark, but Megatron was grateful that Starscream was finally of no more concern to him.

“Lockdown will be disappointed,” Megatron said to Starscream’s corpse, stepping on it firmly with one pede. “I had quite a high price on that head of yours.”

And just like that, Megatron was bored once again. He sighed and dropped the miniscule Allspark fragment into his subspace, walking calmly from the cargo hold and toward the ship’s exit. 

That was _one_ traitor he no longer had to worry about, at least.

Megatron allowed himself to be pleased until he left the Nemesis, waving it a jaunty goodbye and snickering to himself. What a strange day this had been! He couldn’t have hoped for a better turn of events. He cast his gaze toward the Earth once again, smiling at it, still laughing quietly.

His amusement didn’t last, however—as he watched the Earth slowly rotate in the distance, he was severely disappointed to see a glimmer of blue break away from the orbiting debris and move in his direction.

Steelhaven.

Megatron swore aloud, clenching his fist, all happiness vanishing in an instant. The surge of Allspark energy from that destroyed fragment had surely shown up on the Steelhaven’s scanners, and it was clearly moving this way. The ship got bigger and bigger with surprising speed, and before Megatron could properly reason through a plan of infiltration, Steelhaven was firing upon him.

“For spark’s _sake,_ ” Megatron snapped to no one in particular. Unwilling to be traced, he quickly removed the Allspark fragment from his subspace and hurled it toward Steelhaven’s growing form, immediately transforming and accelerating hard toward Earth’s surface once again.

One battle won, but one battle lost. Megatron supposed that it would have to do—strong as he was, without access to Steelhaven, he knew he would be little match for the fully equipped warship. He activated his thrusters and began hurtling toward Earth, leaving Steelhaven far behind.

Perhaps tonight, he could get Professor Sumdac to upgrade his thrusters. That would certainly make for a less boring journey.


	7. Chapter 7

A large servo was rustling gently against Bumblebee’s shoulder, but he felt little inclination to move. Enveloped in a cocoon of warm metal and the kiss of morning sunlight, Bumblebee was perfectly content to stay exactly where he was, basking in the last remnants of his repose.

“Bumblebee,” Blitzwing’s voice said softly, his voice barely a whisper, his warm vents light against Bumblebee’s helm. “Wake up.”

Bumblebee remained stubbornly silent, his optics shuttered. The strain of daily nonstop walking was taking a toll on his joints, and he had no intention of moving from this comfortable moment anytime soon. His audials were filled with the sound of chirping birds and Blitzwing’s idling engine, the natural and mechanical blending together with surprising harmony.

Bumblebee’s shoulder was jostled again. “It’s time to go,” Blitzwing said, his volume ascending ever so slightly.

“Mghn,” Bumblebee managed. “Five more minutes.”

Heavy gears clunked deep within Blitzwing’s chest, his frame shifting upright with a muted _hiss,_ moving pointedly away. “No more minutes,” the triple changer said, the ground trembling as he stood.

“Three?” Bumblebee tried sleepily. He rolled onto his other side, letting sunlight wash over his face, caressing his cheek where Blitzwing had abandoned it.

“ _Zero,_ ” Blitzwing said.

“Two?”

_Whirr._ Bumblebee ignored Blitzwing’s irritated stomps, smirking to himself. 

“Get your aft _up,_ bug,” Blitzwing snapped. “Or I’m drinking _all_ of your morning fuel.”

“No, you’re not,” Bumblebee mumbled sleepily. 

“ _Care to bet on it?_ ”

Bumblebee let out an exaggerated groan, forcing his optics to unshutter as he sat upright, spinal strut popping as he stretched his arms skyward. “Fine, fine,” he said, tilting his helm this way and that, rolling the tension away. “Can’t a mech sleep in for once?”

_Whirr._ “You _did_ sleep in,” Blitzwing said, calm and blue-faced as he unscrewed the lids from two gas canisters. “I tried to wake you an hour ago, but you were immovable. Consider yourself lucky that I let you keep resting.”

Bumblebee _did_ feel lucky, of course, but he loved nothing more than giving Blitzwing a hard time. “It’s okay, I get it,” he said, injecting a dose of mourning into his voice. “You don’t love me enough to let me sleep.”

“You’re right,” Blitzwing said blandly.

Bumblebee rolled his optics, shuffling away from the patch of grass they’d been sleeping in. “You’re not supposed to _agree,_ ” he pouted. “You’re _supposed_ to—hey!”

Blitzwing had already drained his fuel can and, much to Bumblebee’s displeasure, was slowly tipping the second one toward his lips. “That’s _mine!_ ” Bumblebee snapped, jumping toward Blitzwing, swatting a hand as high as he could reach.

“Oh?” Blitzwing said with false surprise. “Well, since you said I don’t love you, I saw no need to share rations with you.”

“Blow it out your tailpipe, Blitzbrain,” Bumblebee whined, snatching the canister from Blitzwing’s servo. “Fine, you _love_ me, I _guess._ ”

The indignance was ruined by the smile pressed onto Bumblebee’s face, and Blitzwing returned the affection with a thin grin of his own. “Correct,” he said smugly. “Hurry up and refuel. We need to cover our tracks before continuing north.”

* * *

_Splash._

Blitzwing watched quietly as Bumblebee leaped into a nearby river, disappearing under the burbling water for a long moment before resurfacing with a loud cry of surprise.

“It’s _cold!_ ” the minibot shrieked, his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. 

“I told you so,” Blitzwing called, shaking his helm.

“Shut up! It’s _nice_ cold! Come on, jump in! You’re dirtier than a crankshaft on a dump truck!”

Blitzwing glanced skyward without thinking, succumbing to the mounting paranoia he’d been facing since Lockdown’s appearance. Recharge hadn’t come easily, his thoughts overwhelmed with worry about being caught by the bounty hunter, memorizing endless scenarios in the event that they ever came into contact. Blitzwing doubted Lockdown would be able to find them—surely he didn’t have any scanners that could counter Blitzwing’s human-made signal dampener—but he forced himself to remain vigilant regardless.

“Hey, you listening to me, numbskull?” Bumblebee said, his voice temporarily drowned out by disgruntled splashing noises. “We can spare a few minutes to clean off, babe!”

Despite his better judgment, Blitzwing was quickly overwhelmed with an unbearable urge to plunge into the sparkling water, enticed by the wide grin on Bumblebee’s face. He mirrored the expression, his own face splitting in half as he took a running jump toward the water below, curling into a ball as he catapulted through the air.

“Cannonball!” Blitzwing yelled just before smashing into the depths, incredibly amused by the massive eruption of water that careened skyward around him. The river was unfortunately shallow, and Blitzwing only sank for a few brief seconds before colliding with the sandy bed.

He surfaced almost instantly, cackling wildly to himself and shaking his frame rapidly from side to side. “That _is_ cold!” he said, slapping warmth back into his cheeks and laughing as Bumblebee was knocked over by a massive wake.

Bumblebee gasped, his vents flaring wide and spewing liquid from his waterlogged systems. “For frag’s sake, Blitzbrain!” he said. “That was _awesome!_ You damn near flooded the whole joint!”

Blitzwing laughed gleefully, dumping handfuls of water across his frame, watching as muck and silt was washed from his frame. “Wanna see me do it again?” he asked excitedly.

“ _Hell yeah, I do!”_

* * *

Blitzwing paced a lot before finally settling down for recharge, Bumblebee noticed.

It was a warm enough night that they’d decided against the need for a shelter. Bumblebee had been quick to locate a patch of soft ferns to lay in, big enough for the both of them, but Blitzwing had been patrolling in tight circles around Bumblebee since dusk.

“It’s getting dark,” Bumblebee said, patting the spot next to him. “Come on. You need rest.”

Blitzwing blinked and looked toward Bumblebee, his scarlet optics glowing like coals against the dark of the surrounding forest. “It isn’t _fully_ dark yet,” he said.

Bumblebee sighed. “We’re gonna be _fine,_ ” he said, trying to force himself to believe it. “Come on, lie down.”

“Lockdown is much more efficient at n—”

“ _Lockdown_ isn’t my concern right now,” Bumblebee said firmly. “ _You_ are. If you’re not recharging properly, you’re not gonna be thinking rationally. I know you’re worried, I get it, but wasting your energy on that dude isn’t gonna help you. Now, snuggle me before I kick you.”

Blitzwing was clearly uncertain, his monocular telescoping toward the sky for a moment, but he followed the movement with a nod. “You’re right,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Hey, you’re looking out for me, and I’m looking out for you,” Bumblebee said, wriggling happily as Blitzwing’s warm frame surrounded him. “If I wake up and you’re pacing around, I’m drinking _your_ morning rations, got it?”

Blitzwing grunted irritably, his arms folding tightly around Bumblebee. “If you insist.”

“I’m serious.”

“Of course you are.”

Shrubbery rustled around them as an evening breeze swept through the air. Bumblebee huddled closer to Blitzwing’s chest, shuttering his optics and listening to the thumping of Blitzwing’s burdened spark.

* * *

Rainy season was in full swing. But the springtime raindrops were soft, far from the piercing storms that had plagued the pair on their first trek in the forest. The cloud cover was dense, putting Blitzwing’s processor far more at ease.

He hated that he’d grown to dread sunlight. But at least rainy days made for difficult visibility.

Bumblebee had been quiet today. Perhaps the grey skies had made him feel melancholy, or maybe he’d had a bad dream—Blitzwing didn’t want to pry. He knew quite well that if Bumblebee wanted to talk, he absolutely would.

He kept his optics pointed at the sky, carefully arranging himself between the rain and Bumblebee’s frame in a feeble attempt to protect him from the worst of the precipitation. Though Bumblebee didn’t seem bothered by the weather, either.

Occasionally, the minibot veered off course to jump into a tantalizing puddle. Blitzwing saw no need to stop him, instead smiling fondly at Bumblebee’s liveliness.

* * *

“Do you think they’re okay?”

Blitzwing frowned, his digits pausing at Bumblebee’s hips, muddy water dripping wetly to the ground. 

“Your team?” he asked, shifting his weight slightly to his other knee, swiping more filth from Bumblebee’s frame.

“Yeah.”

Blitzwing looked directly into Bumblebee’s optics, which met his own with haste. Bumblebee looked tired, concerned, splatters of mud only making him look more pathetic. 

Blitzwing shook his helm, taking Bumblebee’s cheek in one hand and gently thumbing dirt from the soft faceplates. “If they’re half as clever as you, then I’m quite sure they’re alright,” he said earnestly.

Bumblebee’s optics sank to the ground. “Really?” he said, disbelief evident in his tone.

“Pinky promise,” Blitzwing said, offering his smallest digit to Bumblebee. “Everything will be alright.”

Bumblebee didn’t seem fully convinced, but a small smile graced his face as he curled his own pinky around Blitzwing’s. “Yeah,” he said. “Sorry.”

“Bad dream?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“There’s no shame in worrying. But don’t let it consume you.”

Bumblebee smirked. “Hey. That’s _my_ line.”

“Take your own advice, then, silly.” Blitzwing patted Bumblebee’s cheek with his free servo, dropping a kiss onto his forehead. “Shall we stop soon?”

Bumblebee hummed quietly, nodding. “If that’s okay, yeah.”

“Of course it is.”

Blitzwing hoisted himself back to his pedes, flicking the last remnants of mud from his fingertips. The forest around them was dense but flat, with no signs of rock formations within his view. Unwilling to let Bumblebee recharge in the rain, Blitzwing took the minibot’s hand in his own, squeezing it gently.

“Keep your optics open for a dry spot on the ground,” he said.

Bumblebee nodded, setting off after Blitzwing, the smallest hint of a bounce returning to his gait.

* * *

The rain was light but deceptively consistent, soaking much of the landscape around them. Bumblebee kept his hand firmly entangled with Blitzwing’s, comforted by the strength of his digits, the dents and scars from long-forgotten battles.

Finding somewhere dry to rest would have been impossible without Blitzwing’s monocular—after another brief mile of travel, the triple changer had spotted a genuine shelter in the distance. Tired and soaked to the motherboard, Bumblebee rushed in its direction, thrilled to see a small abandoned barn tucked amongst the trees.

It was nearly invisible, overwhelmingly overgrown, but Bumblebee had no reservations about knocking down the flimsy door and crawling inside.

“It’ll be a tight squeeze, but we’ll fit,” he said, looking toward the rotten ceiling that mercifully kept out the worst of the rain. 

He giggled quietly as Blitzwing dragged himself inside, grimacing as damp boards splintered and collapsed against his hard metal touch.

“Humans and their trash,” the triple changer grumbled, hunching over to keep his oversized pauldrons from erupting through the ceiling. “What kind of idiot organic forgets about an entire building for this long?”

“Hey, don’t complain,” Bumblebee said, stretching out against the dry ground, sighing in pleasure. “Their trash is our dry treasure.”

A large drop of water leaked through the ceiling and plopped hard onto Bumblebee’s forehead. He shimmied to the left. “ _Mostly_ dry treasure.”

Blitzwing made a quiet noise of approval, shuffling awkwardly toward the back of the barn, peering through what had once been a window. His monocular started zooming in and out rhythmically, and Bumblebee frowned.

“ _Babe,_ ” he said, insistently tamping down his emotions. “If you’re gonna tell _me_ to stop worrying, _you’ve_ got to stop worrying, too.”

“I’m just checking.”

“Okay, and your _checking_ is making _me_ even more nervous!” Bumblebee said, exasperated, vocally admitting what he’d tried to hold in all day. “Look, this whole thing sucks. I get it. But can we agree to not obsess over the scary stuff?”

Blitzwing turned around, helm cocked. “I’m making you nervous?”

“Well—no, not _you,_ ” Bumblebee corrected. “I know you’re just keeping an optic out, and I appreciate that. For real. Like, more than I can even say in words. But I hate seeing you all tense like this. It makes _me_ tense.”

“I’m trying to be vigilant,” Blitzwing said, his words quickly growing cold.

“And that’s good! Really!” Bumblebee said. “But—okay, compromise. How about this. You get to stare out the window all you want looking for Lockdown, but you have to invite me to do it with you. That way we’re _both_ doing it, and I’m not just sitting here being useless.”

Blitzwing’s expression softened so quickly that it took Bumblebee by surprise. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Yeah!” Bumblebee said, scooting toward the shattered window and propping his chin against Blitzwing’s arm. “You look left, and I’ll look right. See? Now it’s a date. You’re less worried because you have two more optics at the sky, and I’m less worried because you’re less worried.”

Blitzwing’s arm quickly settled over Bumblebee’s shoulders, his engine thrumming peacefully in time with the rain outside. “A perfect compromise,” he said. “Thank you. I love you.”

Bumblebee smiled, nestling his helm comfortably into the crook of Blitzwing’s arm. “I love you, too. So where’d we leave off last night?”

“Mm… Carl was shot.”

“Right! Okay—so, we’re gonna ignore that for a second. Flashback. Lori’s waiting outside Carl’s school, talking with some of the other moms. ‘We had a fight this morning,’ she says. ‘It got ugly.’ She knows that she was the one at fault, and that Rick was _trying_ to be understanding, but anger was still bubbling inside her. Sometimes, she hates how reasonable he is.”

_Whirr._ “Ugh. I _hate_ this bitch. Can we go back to the present?”

“ _No._ It’s important for later. So Lori looks up, and her eyes fall on a police cruiser. Dread _fills_ her when she sees Shane, but not _Rick._ ”

_Whirr._ “Oh, snap!”

“Right? She’s terrified right away. First thing she asks: ‘Is he alive?’ ‘He’s in surgery,’ Shane says. The school bell rings—class is over. Lori’s heart pounds. What’s she gonna tell Carl?”

* * *

Bumblebee’s optics flashed open, his spark thumping wildly in his chest.

Where was he? He sat upright, dazed and confused, trying to understand his dim surroundings. The ground was peppered with misshapen flecks of orange light, streaming in through a broken ceiling.

The barn. Bumblebee settled slightly, his groggy processor slogging through the events of the previous night. Blitzwing had insisted that they stay awake until the end of Bumblebee’s spoken episode of _The Walking Dead,_ the rain thinning significantly as the moon lifted higher in the sky. 

He couldn’t remember when they’d fallen asleep, but Bumblebee was sure it’d been pretty late—way later than usual, at the very least. He rubbed his optics, turning toward Blitzwing, who was still deep in recharge, his wings fluttering pleasantly as he dreamt.

_Bang._

Bumblebee’s spark did a backflip, his sudden awakening suddenly making sense. His back went rigid and he strained his audials, staring at the broken window above Blitzwing’s sleeping form. What kind of noise had that been? It definitely wasn’t a nature noise—Bumblebee had become incredibly familiar with Earth’s strange sounds, and that had _not_ been one of them.

_Crash._

_Clank. Crack._

_Snap!_

_Woosh._

Bumblebee’s optics widened for a moment. He quickly reached a hand toward Blitzwing, prodding his cheek, jaw clenched.

“Blitzwing,” he hissed. “Blitzwing! Wake up!”

The triple changer groaned, his wings flapping. Bumblebee couldn’t spare a second to marvel in how adorable that had been—he opened his servo and smacked his full palm against Blitzwing’s cheek once, twice, three times.

“Blitzwing!” he whispered loudly. “Get up!”

_Zoom—thunk._

Bumblebee slapped Blitzwing harder. “Wake _up!_ ”

Blitzwing’s face spun wildly a few times before screeching to a halt, his gap-toothed dentae exposed in a snarl. “ _What?_ ” he growled, cannons shuddering threateningly. “I was _sleeping,_ you little—”

“Someone’s outside.”

Blitzwing’s face switched to blue in an instant, his single optic locking with Bumblebee’s. “Some _one?_ ” he inquired in a low voice. “A human?”

“No,” Bumblebee said, scrambling to his feet. “A bot. Or more. I’m sure of it, Blitzy—I heard engine noises. Someone’s out there.”

“How far away?” Blitzwing said, following suit and straightening as much as he could. “What kind of engine?”

“I don’t know,” Bumblebee said breathlessly. “Close enough that I heard them. They’re making a fragging racket out there—cutting down trees, maybe? Crash landing? I don’t know. But it’s definitely something. And even if it’s just—I don’t know, a park ranger or something, we gotta go see what it is. Come on.”

“Pardon?” Blitzwing said abruptly. “‘See what it is’? We should do exactly the _opposite._ ”

“If it’s just a dude in a car, it’s fine,” Bumblebee said, hurriedly tossing back his morning fuel and chucking a can toward Blitzwing. “This is the best cover we’ve had in a while. I don’t wanna ditch it unless we have to, you know?”

Blitzwing ripped the lid from his oil can and drank it thoughtfully, optic zooming around the barn. “I suppose,” he said, though his words dripped with uncertainty. “Stay low, and stay _right next to me,_ understood?”

Bumblebee nodded feverishly, pushing open the barn door and waiting impatiently. A few seconds later, another loud _clank_ echoed from somewhere in the distance, and he pointed toward it with a shaky hand.

“That way,” he said, crawling through the doorway. “Come on! Hurry!”

“Stay _low._ And don’t you dare leave my sight.”

* * *

Bumblebee’s intuition had been right—after nearly half an hour of carefully sneaking through the forest, the mysterious noises had grown louder and louder. Blitzwing’s hand hadn’t left Bumblebee’s for the entirety of their exploration, and after an audial-splitting _smash,_ Bumblebee was grateful for the small comfort.

They ducked behind a dense overgrowth of trees and shrubs, looking at one another with expressions that silently spoke the same words: _stay quiet._

_Wham. Bang. Bang. Bang!_

“It’s right over there,” Bumblebee breathed. He reached forward to push branches out of his line of sight, but Blitzwing immediately grasped his arm, shaking his helm.

“Don’t move _anything,_ ” he whispered. “Stay down.”

Moving with poise like that of a hunter stalking its prey, Blitzwing lifted his helm above the greenery, his monocular sliding forward and zooming with more precision than Bumblebee had ever seen. After a tense minute of impossibly slow motion, Blitzwing froze in place, monocular twisting and focusing for barely a second before he snapped back toward the ground.

“We need to go,” he said. “ _Now._ ”

“What is—”

_Bang. Crash._ Bumblebee twitched, Blitzwing’s servo tightening around his own.

“We need to _go,_ ” the triple changer repeated.

“Who is it?” Bumblebee said. “Lemme just—”

“Bumblebee—!”

Ignoring Blitzwing, Bumblebee grabbed a fistful of branches and pulled them aside, squinting hard as he attempted to peer through the trees. 

Less than fifty yards away, the forest opened into a wide clearing. Three shapes, each one a blur against Bumblebee’s frantic vision, were smashing against one another over and over. An impossibly huge tunnel of flame rocketed toward the jagged figure on the ground, and it shrank down for the shortest of seconds before standing tall and firing a barrage of something fast and shiny toward the airborne assailants—ones whose color schemes looked incredibly familiar—

“The twins!” Bumblebee breathed. “Blitzy—Jetfire and Jetstorm! They’re—”

“From the Elite Guard,” Blitzwing said tersely. “Fighting _Lockdown._ We need to _go._ ”

Blitzwing’s frame shifted, but Bumblebee grasped his arm, his spark suddenly pounding. “The Elite Guard sent _them_ after us?” he whispered. “You saw that Safeguard document—weren’t they created, like, really recently? They’re so _young!_ That’s awful of—”

“Now is _not_ the time to be empathetic,” Blitzwing hissed. “I understand that you pity them. And I appreciate it, I do. But we need to—”

“Don’t you feel the same way?” Bumblebee interrupted. “They’re a lot like you, remember?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Blitzwing said. “I _remember._ But regardless, they are _hunting_ us, and if we—”

A gasp bubbled from Bumblebee’s vocalizer, cutting Blitzwing off as he watched one of Lockdown’s projectiles collide with Jetfire in midair. Jetfire’s frame spun wildly, careening downwards and slamming into the ground with a terrible _thud._ Lockdown’s silhouette moved toward him with impossible speed, a large pede slamming onto the space where Jetfire’s helm must’ve been.

Jetstorm zipped toward them, but was swatted out of the air by what appeared to be a massive hook. His frame, too, went down.

All of Bumblebee’s self-control vanished in that moment, and he launched himself through the underbrush, smacking branches and leaves out of his way as he bolted toward the twins at full speed. 

Blitzwing yelled something that Bumblebee couldn’t comprehend. Bumblebee ignored him, throttling toward Lockdown with his stingers raised, scowling with more ferocity than he even knew he possessed.

“Hey, cactus-frame!” Bumblebee screamed once within earshot, firing bolts of prickling electricity directly at Lockdown’s helm. “Leave them _alone!_ ”

The bolts glanced from Lockdown’s frame, doing far less damage than anticipated—if any at all. Bumblebee skidded to a halt as two violent red optics met his own, outlined with shards of black paint that seemed to swallow all light from his expression. But despite the terrifying paint job, Lockdown’s smile was genuine, curving his scarred faceplates into the cruelest smile Bumblebee had ever seen.

“Lucky break,” Lockdown said with a voice made of gravel and blades. “My bounty came running for _me_ this time.”

Jetfire’s head, dented and scorched, lifted from the ground, yellow optics flashing with recognition. “Hey—!”

Lockdown kicked Jetfire’s frame aside, sending him soaring in the direction of his recently-upright brother. Bumblebee took a step backwards, his breathing shallow with panic, his gaze darting between Lockdown and the stumbling twins.

“Half a score is a good start for a decacycle,” Lockdown continued, moving toward Bumblebee with a blaster pointed directly at his spark. “And I’m betting it’ll be pretty easy to break you down, get you to tell me where your boyfriend is. How’s about you—”

The next few seconds happened very, _very_ quickly.

A massive shadow blocked out the peachy morning sun for a split second. Before Bumblebee could register what was happening, Lockdown was being shoved backwards, cursing loudly as fifty tons of beige and purple slammed against him at full force.

Bumblebee stepped forward to help, but recoiled almost immediately. Blitzwing was wearing an expression he’d never seen before—his face was jet black, red optics and mouth ablaze with red, but he wasn’t smiling. Bumblebee had _never_ seen that face without a cackle and a grin to match.

But Blitzwing’s jagged dentae were pulled into a vicious scowl, his broiling optics narrowed to slits as his jaw clamped onto Lockdown’s neck. Energon spurted everywhere, spraying across Blitzwing’s chillingly wicked faceplates, dragging a surprised scream from Lockdown.

“Get the _fuck_ off me!” he yelled. His hook lashed upwards, swinging at Blitzwing’s face. Blitzwing let out a bestial, guttural sound. His dentae sank deeper into Lockdown’s neck.

For a moment, his optics met Bumblebee’s. Then his neck twisted, tearing a shard of Lockdown’s plating with it, which he promptly spat on the ground.

“Grab them and _go!_ ” Blitzwing screamed.

Bumblebee needed no further instruction. He dashed towards the befuddled twins, hauling them to their feet and grasping one of each of their servos in his own.

“Run!” he snapped.

Jetfire, his helm badly dented and leaking slightly, glanced wildly in Blitzwing’s direction. “But—we—”

“You are arrested!” Jetstorm said.

Bumblebee jerked on their hands hard. “ _Now!_ ”

Ignoring their confused protests, Bumblebee yanked them both toward the woods, coaxing them into an uncertain but steady run. Blitzwing quickly followed, his face spinning back to blue.

“Are you okay?” Bumblebee called over his shoulder, relieved to see that Lockdown wasn’t following them.

Blitzwing spat energon to the ground as he ran. “Fine,” he said. “You _idiot._ ”

“Just trust me!”

Blitzwing didn’t respond. He did, however, jolt forward on his thrusters, snatching the badly injured Jetfire from the ground and securing him under one arm.

“You’re lucky I do,” he said.

Bumblebee grinned, tugging at Jetstorm to silence his temporary protest. “I sure am.”

* * *

The door at the head of the brig hissed loudly as it opened, jolting Prowl from a peaceful recharge. He opened one optic and watched as Jazz entered the room, whispering something to Sentinel.

Sentinel smirked, nodded, and left. Shift swap.

Once they were alone, Prowl sat upright. Jazz’s lips were pressed firmly together into a frown, and he glanced over his shoulder before leaning against the wall adjacent to Prowl’s cell.

“I got news,” he murmured quietly. “Everyone awake?”

With very little hesitation, Optimus, Bulkhead, and Ratchet sat upright, each of them stretching. Jazz snorted, shaking his helm.

“The old ‘pretend to be recharging’ bit,” he said amusedly. “Classic.”

“Keeps Sentinel from barking at us,” Ratchet grumbled.

“It’s a shame we can’t do it during the day, too,” Optimus said.

Bulkhead shrugged. “I mean, technically, we _can._ ”

“He’d catch on eventually,” Optimus sighed. “And we’d get chewed out for it. Trust me. Jazz, you said you had news?”

Prowl turned to Jazz, whose frown had returned.

“The twins’ signals went dark a megacycle ago,” Jazz said, tapping a pede against the ground. 

Bulkhead gasped. “Oh, no!”

“No—not _that_ kind of dark,” Jazz said. “Invisible, not offline. Best guess, they’re under a signal dampener. Blitzwing’s, probably. They found ‘em.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely sure how to react, his spark twisting with unexpected concern. He glanced around the room and saw that everyone else had straightened, their gazes locked on Jazz—even Ratchet’s.

“Meaning?” Optimus asked anxiously.

“Not sure,” Jazz said. “SP hasn’t worked through a plan for capture yet. Most likely, they’ll be in here with you all until Magnus gets back.”

“Are they okay?” Bulkhead asked.

Jazz shrugged. “Can’t say. All I know is that they aren’t on our radar anymore. Just figured I’d give you all a heads up, in case you wanted to talk about what to do.”

Nobody spoke. Prowl watched as Ratchet seemed to wrestle with a huge set of emotions before folding his arms and turning to the wall.

“No sense worrying about it unless we’ve got details,” he said gruffly—Prowl couldn’t tell if he was talking to them or to himself. 

Prowl pressed a fist against the glass wall of his cell. “Thank you, Jazz,” he said. “For keeping us updated.”

Jazz smiled, bumping his own fist against the barrier. “No problem. Hope I didn’t ruin anyone’s day.”

Prowl glanced toward the rest of his team, analyzing each of them. Bulkhead somehow anxious and relieved at the same time, and Optimus had sunk backwards with his lips pursed, optics lowered, deep in thought.

“Well,” Prowl said with a shrug. “You certainly gave everyone some things to think about.”


	8. Chapter 8

After so many days spent alone with Blitzwing, Bumblebee was surprised at how _loud_ the footfalls of other mechs could be.

Jetstorm were certainly light on his feet, but the added sound of his frantic galloping was much more noisy than Bumblebee remembered. It seemed like ages since he’d had any company other than Blitzwing’s, and the sound was a strange interruption of what Bumblebee had quickly begun to accept as his new “normal.”

Bumblebee wasn’t sure where they were running to, exactly. He allowed Blitzwing to take the lead, Jetfire’s frame struggling weakly under his arm as they smacked through branch after branch after branch. Bumblebee followed without question, trusting that he would take them far, far away from wherever Lockdown would be searching for them next.

By the time Blitzwing slowed, Bumblebee’s vents were heaving, hot air hissing in damp clouds from the seams of his armor. He panted, letting go of Jetstorm’s servo and jogging toward Blitzwing, who was drenched in condensation.

“How far away are we?” he panted.

Blitzwing scanned through the trees, wiping his damp brow. “Far enough,” he said gravely. “Five miles, perhaps?”

“Jeez,” Bumblebee said, rushing forward to help tilt Jetfire safely to the ground. “You know I’m not much of a marathon runner. More of a sprinter, if I do say so myself.”

Jetfire slumped slightly as he hit the dirt, his yellow optics immediately spinning toward Jetstorm. He fired a nasty look at Blitzwing.

“Spiky bot’s signal not findable anymore,” he said thickly, swiping a thick stream of energon from the deep dent carved into his helm. 

“He cloaked it, then,” Blitzwing said, still staring skyward.

Bumblebee frowned, scooting closer to Blitzwing and wiping the smears of energon and oil from his frame. “Or he went offline,” he suggested. “I mean, you took a pretty big chunk out of him back there. That would’ve killed _anyone._ ”

“Lockdown is fully capable of self-repair,” Blitzwing said gravely. “He has more than enough technology aboard his ship to repair nearly any battlefield injuries he may sustain. And might I add” —Blitzwing’s face quickly spun to red— “I would not have _had_ to bite him like that if you hadn’t been so _foolish._ What were you _thinking?_ ”

Bumblebee shrank down slightly, though he felt his jaw set of its own accord. “They needed help,” he said stubbornly.

“That was _stupid_ reckless,” Blitzwing said, his visor flashing. “All I want is to _protect_ your dumb little aft. Do you know how _hard_ it is to do that when you go leaping _directly at three of our current enemies?_ We have _no means of proper repair!_ Any kind of damage could be the _end_ for us!”

“They were in _trouble,_ ” Bumblebee said. 

“ _So were you!_ ”

Bumblebee frowned. “Are you really mad at me for trying to _help_ someone?” he snapped. “I thought I told you, I’m looking for _peace_ here! Nothing’s gonna get solved if we go around letting everyone take each other offline! If Lockdown took them offline, don’t you think _you’d_ be blamed for it? The last thing you need right now is _another_ murder charge against you!”

A gear twitched furiously in Blitzwing’s jaw, but to Bumblebee’s surprise, his face spun back to blue quite quickly. “I do understand that,” Blitzwing said quietly. “My primary concern is your safety. I have no intentions of stopping you from doing what you think is right, but perhaps you could _warn_ me next time?”

Bumblebee rubbed his optics, struggling to push aside his ego. “Yeah,” he said. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just—jumping out and doing whatever I want is sort of my M.O., you know? It’s not like anyone on my team—my _former_ team ever trusted me to do anything right. I guess I’m just used to winging it.”

He sighed, lowering Blitzwing’s hands into his own. “I’ll try not to be so impulsive,” he said sincerely. “But only if you agree to trust me when my gut is telling me that I gotta do something. Win-win. Right?”

Blitzwing began to smile. “Win-win,” he agreed. “Did you take any damage? It’s unlikely that we will be able to do any significant repairs, but if you are harmed in any way, I—”

With no warning, Blitzwing’s frame was suddenly sent careening backwards, a massive gust of concentrated wind catching him off guard and knocking him hard into a nearby tree. Leaves rustled as his full weight shook the world around them, branches snapping from the tree and raining upon his helm.

Bumblebee jumped upright, drawing his stingers. “Blitzy!” he yelled. “Are you—”

“Servos in air, traitor!”

There was no mistaking that accent, and with no hesitation, Bumblebee put his hands above his helm and turned around. Jetstorm was positioned powerfully in front of Jetfire, whose lopsided stance did nothing to stop his servos from igniting with churning spheres of flame.

“You are under arrests!” Jetfire said, optics narrowed, a crooked scowl digging into his features. “You are having right to be silent. Anything you say will and can—”

“Are you serious?” Bumblebee said, keeping his servos high above his helm in a desperate attempt to look non-threatening. “We just totally saved your sorry afts, and now you’re gonna arrest us? At least let one of us look over your systems.”

“Systems are running at full capacity,” Jetfire snapped.

“ _Your helm is bleeding!_ ”

“Self-repair will be fixing it,” Jetfire said, his flames suddenly swelling aggressively in size. “You, badness bot! Be staying still!”

Against his better judgement, Bumblebee glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see that Blitzwing had risen to his feet and was irritably brushing fallen branches from his shoulders. 

“My Bumblebee risked his life to protect you,” he said calmly, approaching the twins very slowly. “Is that worth nothing to you?”

“We are having orders!” Jetstorm barked.

“And you aren’t scaring us!” Jetfire added. “We were taking down bigger, badder Decepticons than you ever be.”

“I am not trying to scare you,” Blitzwing said patiently. He slowly moved in front of Bumblebee, though he kept his arms at his sides, and Bumblebee could tell that every cable in his body was wound tight in case he had to strike. 

“Servos in air!” Jetstorm said, the leaves and dirt around him rustling as a funnel of wind began to revolve around him.

Blitzwing complied, wings twitching anxiously. “Sometimes orders are meant to be disobeyed,” he said in a low voice. “Do you truly believe that arresting us is the best thing for you to do right now?”

“Orders are orders,” Jetfire said firmly. “We aren’t having to ask about them. We do what—”

“—What you’re told, yes,” Blitzwing said. “I understand that. I used to do precisely the same thing, for an equally corrupt and misguided leader. The two of you are far more similar to me than you know.”

“We are being _nothing_ like you,” Jetstorm spat. “You are evil Decepticon!”

“Am I?” Blitzwing said. “Is that indicated by my insignia?”

He gestured to his chest, which was just as blank as Bumblebee’s. Neither of them had been adorned with insignias for quite some time, and though Bumblebee had nearly forgotten about it, it seemed to take both twins slightly aback.

“Right,” Bumblebee added. “We’re not identifying with Autobots _or_ Decepticons. We’re just trying to do good stuff and stay alive. Is that really a good basis for an arrest?”

Jetfire scoffed. “You can’t be running from past crimes,” he said, tossing his fiery globes into the air and watching them meld into one. “No for insignia is yes for _coward._ ”

“If running away from the tyrant who stole my frame and mutilated it without my permission is _cowardice,_ then yes, I _am_ a coward,” Blitzwing said with deathly seriousness. “Is that a familiar story to you two?”

Jetstorm’s mouth opened for a moment, but he quickly closed it, glancing at his brother. Jetfire’s gaze didn’t waver from Blitzwing, his optics fixed on the triple changer.

“I was content with who I was,” Blitzwing said, taking another slow step toward the twins. “But Megatron was not. He found me troublesome and useless to his cause, so he stole me. He killed the mech I was forged as and rebirthed me as someone that _he_ found beneficial. _I_ had no say in the matter. I was instructed to do as I was told, and after being stripped of my former self, _tortured_ into complying, I listened. _That_ is the Blitzwing that you want to arrest.”

Blitzwing looked down toward Bumblebee, a small smile on his face. “But I was given a chance to reclaim myself,” he said. “With help, I was freed from my false devotion. I met someone who encouraged me to create my own path rather than follow the one forced upon me.”

Bumblebee smiled back. Blitzwing turned back to the twins, taking another step toward them.

“I know you feel as though you owe something to Ultra Magnus,” he said. “But you do not. You are only as much of yourselves as _you_ want to be. No matter who tries to change you.”

Jetfire finally moved his gaze away from Blitzwing, looking at his brother. They seemed to share some sort of communication that Bumblebee couldn’t hear, speaking only with their optics, whispering silently in a language that they alone could understand.

Though it was only a brief moment, it seemed like ages before Jetstorm looked up at Blitzwing, his visor bright with incomprehensible emotion. “We _are_ liking us,” he said, apparently struggling to find his words. “We are using skills for goodness. Like jumping and fighting. We are good at being first flying Autobots.”

“We were recruited,” Jetfire added sharply. “Ultra Magnus sir told so!”

“You weren’t, though!” Bumblebee interrupted. “I’ve read your file—both of us have! You two could’ve gone _offline_ and no one would’ve cared! Magnus only wanted to use you two because you were just refinery bots to them! And Perceptor wanted to be able to play with two sets of code instead of one. You both were basically dead when they brought you in!”

“Elite Guard was saving our sparks after refinery accident!” Jetstorm argued. 

“By _chance!_ ” Bumblebee insisted. “If you’d gone offline, they would’ve just found someone else! They weren’t _trying_ to save you—they were just trying to get good subjects for their experiments! For frag’s sake, you two were called ‘expendable’ in your official designation documents! They only picked you because they didn’t want to risk lives that they thought were more important than yours!”

The wind churning around Jetstorm abruptly stopped, and his visor glimmered. “Called what?”

“No listening to them, brother,” Jetfire said with a scowl. “Traitor bots are trying to trick us.”

But Bumblebee could see that even Jetfire was beginning to waver now. His ball of fire was flickering, plumes of smoke rising from the yellowing flames as their raging heat slowly diminished. Bumblebee followed Blitzwing’s lead and took a step forward, his own servos shaking with nervousness and concern.

“We’re not trying to trick you,” he insisted quietly. “The only reason I jumped in to help you two is because—you know what? I honestly have no idea. It just seemed like the right thing to do. This whole situation is fragged enough as is, and I just—I don’t know. When I first read that document about you two, I didn’t believe it at all. I didn’t _want_ to. But then I saw you guys out there, fighting Lockdown because Sentinel probably told you to, and it just didn’t seem fair. None of this is fair!”

Jetfire’s flame sputtered and died, and he slowly lowered his servos, amber optics curious and wide as his gaze pressed against Bumblebee.

“Anyone who didn’t fight directly in the war was called _expendable,_ ” Bumblebee continued, unsure if he was talking to the twins or himself. “That’s just so _gross_ to me. How can _any_ bot be considered expendable? Everyone was just trying to live their own lives—everyone thought Megatron was offline, and the Elite Guard was _still_ doing all of this experimentation slag? It’s just not _fair._ You can’t place a value on someone just based on what they _do._ Wasn’t that Megatron’s whole reason for fighting in the _first place_ before he got all power hungry?”

Bumblebee kicked irritably at the dirt before narrowing his optics and staring at the twins. “The only thing any of us did _wrong_ was exist at the wrong time, when the whole _world_ was arguing with each other,” he said. “None of _us_ wanted to fight. We just _had_ to. And if you two didn’t want to do that _before_ the Elite Guard made you into fighters, then you shouldn’t have to do it _now._ I thought I wanted to be this big Elite Guard hotshot, but it turns out that the Elite Guard kinda, well—they kinda suck. So I wanna do my own thing now. And if you two want to help, then, well...”

Bumblebee offered a nervous smile, shrugging his shoulders.

The twins stood still, glancing amongst themselves before looking at Bumblebee, then at Blitzwing. Jetstorm bit his lip, kicking at a loose pebble by his feet that had been stirred up by his own wind.

“I am… not knowing,” Jetstorm said quietly. “I _like_ flying.”

“And I am liking fighting and flipping and combining,” Jetfire added. 

“We _both_ are,” Jetstorm said.

“And _I_ like turning into a tank,” Blitzwing said quietly. “What I _don’t_ like is being told that all I am allowed to do is fight for someone else.”

“You don’t owe the Elite Guard anything,” Bumblebee said. “Even if you like your frames. Because, let’s be honest, they’re _super_ cool. But you didn’t _ask_ to be their lackeys. They can’t just go sending you around the entire planet on a whim if you don’t actually wanna do that. Isn’t there anything else you’d rather be doing right now?”

The twins shared another long look at one another, communicating in their mysterious twin way. Bumblebee briefly wondered if they could hear each other’s thoughts or something wild like that—but he quickly pushed the thought away. _Not the right time to ask,_ he told himself. _Maybe later._

“I am not knowing,” Jetstorm said again, shuffling toward Jetfire. 

“I’m confusion,” Jetfire grumbled. “I _would_ like being cyber-circus performer.”

“No one is going to cyber-circus anymore,” Jetstorm hissed.

“Are you disagree? Are you _not_ wanting to try trapeze?”

“I— _yes,_ I _am,_ but—”

“Be imagining! Flying with no jets! Fan bots everywhere cheering!”

“But we are having wings! Isn’t that mean we won’t be—”

“Okay, okay, listen,” Bumblebee interjected. “Why don’t you two hang out with us for a little while and sort out how you feel about all of this? Blitzy’s got a signal dampener, so the Elite Guard won’t come looking for you or anything. They’ll just think you’re trying to capture us or whatever, or that you’re stalking nearby. I don’t know. But they won’t be able to track any of us as long as you stay nearby. And that way, you two can think without being pressured by anyone.”

He winked, elbowing Blitzwing. “Blitzy’s really supportive of weird life goals. Trust me. We don’t even _know_ what mine is anymore.”

Jetfire and Jetstorm looked at each other, then at the sky, then back at each other. A long moment of silence hung heavy in the air, only broken by Jetfire as he scuffed a pede at the ground.

“Okay,” Jetfire said, though his voice bristled with uncertainty. “Just for little bit.”

“Until self-repair is fixing brother’s ugly head,” Jetstorm added.

Jetfire snorted. “Even with head dent, I am _still_ less ugly than you, brother.”

“As if! Head dent is _improvement_ on your ugly. Leaky energon covers your ugly face!”

“Great,” Blitzwing said loudly, speaking over the twins as they began to bicker. “If I may interject on this enlightening conversation, we must keep moving. We will heal faster if properly rested. And we require shelter that will protect us from an aerial view.”

“I want fuel,” Jetstorm said.

Jetfire blinked excitedly. “Oh! I am wanting too!”

“ _After_ we build a shelter,” Bumblebee said. “Follow us. Blitzy’s the best at finding good places to hide out.”

* * *

Traveling was much easier for Blitzwing when he wasn’t hauling a jet under his arm. He had been surprised, quite frankly, at how heavy Jetfire had been during their narrow escape from Lockdown’s location.

The twins were rather quiet while Blitzwing assembled a base for the four of them. They’d managed to find a shallow undercut in a nearby bluff, which was easily obscured by a collection of trees that Blitzwing uprooted.

Jetstorm, clearly in a haste to aid his tiring brother, had cleared the shelter of debri with a single gust of wind. Blitzwing had little time to be impressed before both of them huddled together, murmuring amongst themselves as Jetstorm drew emergency medical supplies from his subspace and tended to Jetfire’s injured helm.

Blitzwing did his best not to disturb them as nighttime fell, and was pleased to see that his lack of intrusion must’ve been appreciated—the sun had barely set before both twins had curled around one another and fallen asleep. Jetstorm kept his back to Bumblebee and Blitzwing, shielding his twin from whatever danger may sneak up on them in the night.

“They’re pretty cool, don’t you think?”

Blitzwing turned toward Bumblebee, who was leaning against the cave wall with his arms behind his helm. The minibot was watching the twins sleep with an unusual expression on his face—something between curiosity and worry, Blitzwing supposed.

“What makes you say that?” Blitzwing wondered.

“I dunno,” Bumblebee said with a shrug. “I guess I thought they’d be a little more like Sentinel. They seemed pretty loyal to him. Not that I know them all that well. I’ve only met them, like, twice, and I was a bit preoccupied both of those times. But they’re not really all that bad. Not _nearly_ as bad as Sentinel, I mean.”

“Low bar,” Blitzwing muttered amusedly.

Bumblebee smirked. “Yeah, well, I’m taking what I can get at this point. They didn’t chuck us into jail cells, so that’s way cooler than pretty much everyone else I’ve dealt with these past few months.”

“You spoke very well to them,” Blitzwing said, moving next to Bumblebee and gently taking his hand. “I will be honest and say that I’m quite impressed.”

“Oh?” Bumblebee said snidely. “What, you think I’m a bad talker or something?”

“Precisely,” Blitzwing fired back. “But you managed to convince both them and myself to abandon our military duties. You are much more of a leader than you think you are.”

Bumblebee paused, his shiny blue optics looking up at Blitzwing’s, the emotion within them completely unreadable. “Meh,” he said.

“Give yourself some credit, love,” Blitzwing murmured. “From the day I met you, you’ve gone on and on about wanting to do more. Perhaps your talents as a leader are more innate than you realize.”

Bumblebee shrugged, but the shimmer of a smile that passed across his face was impossible to miss. “Thanks,” he said. “But you helped a lot. You trusted me. And now we might have two insanely badass allies because of that. Kinda sucks that they had to go through the same slag as you, sorta, but I’m gonna call that a win.”

“As you should,” Blitzwing said.

They sat in silence for a long while, gently massaging each other’s digits. Blitzwing doubted he would ever stop being fascinated with how small Bumblebee’s hands were, so delicate in size but brimming with bravery. It was an honor, truly, to be the one holding such precious hands, to be the one that could provide them with comfort.

Without prompting, Blitzwing leaned down to kiss the top of Bumblebee’s helm. Bumblebee smiled and leaned sleepily against him, gnawing at the nozzle of a now-empty gas canister.

“Hey,” Bumblebee said, his voice soft against the insistent chirping of crickets and whispering of wind. “What exactly happened back there, with Lockdown?”

Blitzwing cocked his helm, glancing down at Bumblebee. “How do you mean?”

Bumblebee lifted Blitzwing’s palm, tracing the seams carefully with one finger. “You, like, went berserker mode or something,” he said. “Lockdown was about to shoot me, and then all of a sudden, you were chewing on his neck like it was your last meal. And you were… uh… well, you weren’t smiling.”

“I don’t smile very often,” Blitzwing said.

“Well, _yeah,_ but you’re _always_ smiling with that face,” Bumblebee said, waving a free hand in front of his own face. “The one with the wacky teeth and whatnot. I’ve never _not_ seen you laughing or doing something stupid when you’ve got that face on. I guess I just always thought it was your happy face or something. But you looked—okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but you looked _terrifying._ ”

“Did I scare you?” Blitzwing asked.

“No! Well—yeah, but I wasn’t scared _of_ you. It was just different,” Bumblebee clarified quickly. “I mean, obviously you don’t just have three emotions, but I guess I’m just used to each of your faces being, like, your _mode._ Serious mode, angry mode, and giggly mode. So it was kinda weird to see you in what I _thought_ was giggly mode, but you weren’t giggly. Does that make sense?”

Blitzwing paused, trying to recall the blurry emotions he’d rifled through when he’d seen Bumblebee in mortal danger. “I suppose,” he said slowly. “I just know that I wanted to protect you. And I _was_ angry, but I was also scared for your safety. That’s all. I can’t explain it.”

To Blitzwing’s surprise, Bumblebee chuckled. “You know, Blitzy, for someone who _literally_ wears your feelings on your sleeve,” he said, “you’re a really complex bot. There’s way, _way_ more to you than it seems. You must really like me if me being in danger made you feel something like whatever _that_ was.”

Blitzwing paused. “...Thank you?”

Bumblebee laughed, nuzzling sleepily under Blitzwing’s arm. “You’re an enigma, Blitzbrain,” he said. “And I love it.”

Blitzwing pulled Bumblebee closer, squeezing him gently as he gazed out of their makeshift shelter. He certainly was an enigma, he supposed. He’d been told that in various ways since the day he’d joined Megatron’s ranks, though never as a compliment.

It made his spark sing to know that Bumblebee loved that about him.


	9. Chapter 9

Sari realized far too late that she hadn’t _quite_ packed enough snacks for her journey.

After a few days, she’d lost count of how long she’d been going from mine to mine, seeking any trace of her father and the massive jerkwads that were holding him captive. Her dad had commissioned dozens of mines to be built before she’d even been born—presumably to find Megatron’s body, Sari decided—and most of them lay abandoned nowadays, save for a few drones. 

It was a wild guess for Sari to assume that Megatron would be hiding in one of them, but she couldn’t think of where else to look. The Decepticons had _probably_ found some way to stay hidden while her dad built their signal dampeners, and based on the TV shows Sari had seen, that meant that they must be somewhere underground.

Probably. Hopefully.

But after fully searching nine mines, six random caves, and even a few of her dad’s abandoned warehouses, Sari’s pursuit of justice had still made no progress. And she was starting to run dangerously low on granola bars.

Sari’s steps had grown more sluggish as the days dragged on, and today was no exception. She felt more haggard and exhausted than ever—low on food, low on water, and insanely low on sleep. Even as she walked through a particularly bright, sunny spring afternoon, she couldn’t stop yawning. 

Should’ve packed a sleeping bag, she supposed.

Her determination, however, had not wavered. Even without a trace of the Decepticons in sight, she was forcing herself to keep moving to the next possible location. Anger burned in her heart, blending with the aching desire to see her father, creating a flame that couldn’t be extinguished no matter how sleepy she was.

Sari yawned loudly, scaring a nearby bird, though she paid it no mind. Birds only reminded her of Prowl and his weird obsession with them, and that just made her want to sucker punch Megatron even more. She pushed on, grass crunching under her shoes, keeping her eyes as alert as her brain would allow.

* * *

Searching mines _sucked._ No matter how big they were, they were _always_ freezing, and Sari hated them with a burning passion. 

A rock fell from somewhere on the ceiling and bonked Sari in the head. She let out a frustrated scream and punted the rock as hard as she could, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall onto her cheeks.

“How many stupid mines do you _have,_ Dad?” she shouted to no one.

Her voice echoed around her, the only company she’d had in what must’ve been weeks. But she pushed aside the loneliness, reminding herself of only one thing: _you won’t be alone anymore when you find Dad._

* * *

_Maybe I was too hard on Bee,_ Sari thought tiredly to herself, pushing a cricket away from her designated sleeping spot under a bush.

The more time she spent out here, completely alone, the more she began to understand a _tiny_ bit of how close Bumblebee and Blitzwing must’ve been. Nature had proven to be relentless, and having a giant protector had certainly been a source of comfort for Bumblebee. He hated being outside more than anyone Sari had ever met, and if he’d made it back alive after _months_ of wandering, just like Sari was doing now, maybe it was understandable for him to trust Blitzwing more than he trusted her.

Or maybe not. Sari had no idea how relationships worked in general, let alone robot relationships. She scowled to herself and tightened her jacket over herself—a makeshift blanket that had proven surprisingly effective.

It still wasn’t _fair._ None of this was any fair. All she wanted to do was find her dad, and because of Bumblebee, her chances had gone from slim to almost nonexistent. How could he keep a secret like that?

“‘I knew you’d want to go after him,’” Sari recited aloud, Bumblebee’s words still ringing in her ears. “Stupid.”

Everything was confusing and annoying and tiring. Sari wanted to be angry at Bumblebee, she really did, but it was getting harder and harder to ignore the nagging voice that told her that _maybe_ it had been okay for him to lie.

She tried to ignore that voice. It wasn’t like she could change it now, with Bumblebee and Blitzwing completely off her radar. For all she knew, they could be in Argentina, sipping away at Spanish-flavored oil or whatever the heck they had in South America.

Sari closed her eyes firmly, hoping that the artificial darkness would make it easier for her to sleep despite the thoughts ringing endlessly in her head. The only thing she knew for sure was that she had to listen to her gut—that’s what Dad had always told her to do. And her gut told her that she was getting really, _really_ close to her goal.

* * *

She had been right.

Sari’s heart thudded so loudly in her chest that it drowned out all other sounds, the rush of blood filling her ears as she stared at the entrance looming before her. It was an unassuming mine, looking exactly the same as every other one she’d looked at so far, but she just _knew_ this was the one. Deep in her gut, she _knew,_ with more certainty than she’d ever felt before.

It wasn’t entirely a gut feeling, though. The collection of burned trees and giant footprints around the cave’s gaping maw were also pretty solid indicators that she was in the right place. But Sari was proud of her discovery regardless, despite the fear that was turning her insides to slush.

Five deep breaths and two silent pep talks later, the nervousness hadn’t faded, but Sari was at least able to take a few steps into the shadowy cavern.

Almost immediately, Sari felt her heart rate spiking. She gripped the fabric of her dress, unsure of what to do with her hands as she manually took step after step. Her feet didn’t seem to want to cooperate, yet it somehow still felt as though they were moving of their own accord.

Sari didn’t know what she was more afraid of—the Decepticons, or seeing her dad. Or, even worse, seeing the Decepticons and _not_ seeing her dad.

She shook the thought away, swallowing the lump that was rising in her throat. She had to focus. No matter where her dad was being kept, she’d be able to break him out with her key.

But why did her footsteps feel so _loud_ all of a sudden? Sari tried to walk lightly, but as the sunshine was replaced with an eerie purple cast, every tiny footfall seemed to reverberate more and more.

This was _definitely_ the right place.

Sari held faith in her small size providing her easy cover from Decepticons, though she refused to let her guard down. The hum of machinery and whirring of idling engines grew more and more prominent as the air grew thicker, but by some miracle, she didn’t hear a single voice.

That could either be a good sign or a bad sign, Sari decided as the ceiling abruptly ascended, the room seeming to expand around her as the source of sounds came into view.

Sari couldn’t help it—her jaw dropped. She was so used to the comfortable warmth of the Autobot base that she’d never even _considered_ that something like this could exist. Machinery lofted around her at all angles, strange panels and monitors blinking with lettering that she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Though the room should have been dark, shielded under miles of stone, the entire area gleamed with a sickly green glow, which all emanated from a curious cylinder pressed against a blackened rock wall.

The room was still quiet, save for a muffled clicking noise coming from within the cylinder—a clicking noise that Sari would know anywhere.

Her body moved entirely on its own. All of the tact and stealth she’d been moving was immediately forgotten. Sari burst forward with more speed than she knew she was capable of, dashing across the cavernous room and tripping up a small staircase, slamming her hands against the unusually tinted glass as she reached its level.

“ _Dad!_ ” she cried.

Professor Sumdac looked worse than Sari had ever seen him, his body jolting with shock and sending a keyboard clattering across the floor. The cylinder—more like a prison—had been made up into a nearly perfect replica of Sumdac’s workspace, even down to the annoyingly loud keyboard he always used. Perhaps it was the fault of the glass, but as Sumdac looked down at Sari, he looked incredibly ill, deep circles carved under his eyes, his skin sallow.

“S-Sari?” he whispered, stumbling out of his chair and nearly falling to the floor. “Oh, my—Sari, you’re alive! Are you alright?”

“I’m _fine,_ Dad! I’m here to bust you out!” Sari said, seeking weak spots in the glass and quickly deciding to just smack her fists against it. “Stay back, okay? I’m breaking this—stupid—glass—stuff!”

Out of the corners of her eyes, Sari saw her father look around anxiously, walking slowly toward the glass with his hands stretched out. “Sari—quiet down just a bit, yes? They’re—”

“How thick is this glass?” Sari said irritably, driving a fist against the glass. “Gosh!”

“Sari—”

“I need to get you _out_ of here,” Sari said, wiping her cheeks as she suddenly felt them grow damp. “I’ve been looking for you for _days._ Maybe weeks? I don’t know. But Dad—everything’s gone nuts. Bee’s gone, the whole team is in space somewhere, and I just—I missed you! I need your _help!_ We have to help them!”

Sumdac’s face crumpled, his eyes shining. “Sari,” he said softly. “It’s alright. Calm down, and stop hitting the glass so hard. Lug—”

“Fine! Where’s the control panel for this thing?” Sari interrupted, blinking away the tears that filled her eyes. 

Sumdac shrugged frantically. “Somewhere below me. Megatron had to crouch to—”

As much as she wanted to hear her father’s voice, Sari’s patience had gone out the window. She whirled around and looked frantically for some sort of promising controls, only barely seeing the corner on the opposite side of the rounded prison.

Tears bubbled in her eyes. “I’m not gonna be able to reach that,” she whispered.

She grabbed her key and began knocking it against the glass, begging for it to somehow start working on a completely non-mechanical prison. As expected, the green tint faded slightly, but the thick glass remained steadfast.

“Come _on!_ ” she whimpered, ramming the key with more force against the glass. Sumdac grimaced, shaking his hands in a weak plea for her to stop.

“The glass cannot be penetrated, even by your key,” he said quickly. “Even if the energy field can be cut. But Sari, you need to—”

“No!” Sari said, her voice cracking hard, her shaking hands pushing against the glass. “I _need_ to get you out of here. _Now._ I’ve _missed_ you. And I’m not leaving here unless you’re with me!”

“That’s very kind of you, but Sari,” Sumdac said, his eyes brimming with panic, “sound carries in this mine, and you’re—”

“ _What is the meaning of this?_ ”

Sumdac let out a choked sound and took a wobbly step backwards. Sari’s heart dropped into her stomach, and she slowly turned around, her knees knocking together as violent shakes made her entire body tremor.

Standing in one enormous doorway was Lugnut, his frame alight with the sickly green glow of Sumdac’s prison. His singular optic was locked on Sari, expressionless and blank, but the deep growl of his voice spoke for itself.

Sari held her fists forward, unsure of what else to do. 

“Let him _go!_ ” she shouted in her most demanding tone, quite irritated at how pathetically scared she actually sounded. “Let him go, and no one gets hurt!”

Lugnut was, unsurprisingly, not convinced. He took a few massive strides toward Sari, traversing the entire room with no trouble at all, his optic broiling with rage.

“Lord Megatron!” he bellowed. “An infestation has entered the command center!”

All Sari had time to think was _uh-oh_ before Lugnut lifted his pede.

Acting on pure survival instinct, Sari curled into a ball and hurled herself down the stairs, narrowly escaping Lugnut’s foot as it crashed into the ground. She cried out a few times as she tumbled to the hard cavern floor, the breath leaving her lungs in a _woosh._ Pebbles and rocks clattered around her, the impact of Lugnut’s pede shaking her very bones.

“Is that all you got?” Sari wheezed, coughing a few times and dragging herself to her feet.

Lugnut replied with another attempt to step on her. Sari lunged back toward the stairs, scrambling up as a frantic but viable plan came to mind.

The ground shook once again, and Sari flattened her back against the glass walls of Sumdac’s prison, gasping for breath. “Hey, ugly!” she yelled. “Too slow to step on a bug?”

Lugnut let out a horrible, enraged growl, drawing back a pincer-like hand and snapping it into what must’ve been a fist. Sari screamed and ducked, covering the back of her head.

_Crash!_

The sound of shattering glass was beyond deafening—Sari’s head seemed to split in half as the room-sized cylinder exploded, caving dramatically under Lugnut’s terrifyingly fast punch. Shards of all shapes and sizes rained upon Sari’s arms, stinging painfully as they peppered her body and sliced cleanly through the skin on her arms.

“Sari!” Sumdac yelled, his voice shockingly quiet against the ringing in Sari’s ears.

She peeled her eyes open once the glass finally stopped falling, trying to ignore the pain that was making her vision fuzzy. Her dress was torn all over, her arms and back prickling uncomfortably as though bits of glass were still embedded in her skin.

But she didn’t have time to calm down—Lugnut’s fist was rising once again, and Sari had no choice but to duck once again with her arms in front of her face.

Something was stinging her face, and for a moment, Sari wondered how glass could have possibly gotten on the front of her body. She opened her eyes as Lugnut took a few angry steps across the room.

And her heart nearly stopped.

The skin on her arms was torn without a doubt, but what lay beneath the deep gashed was _not_ what she had anticipated. She’d watched enough violent TV to know that people were usually meaty on the inside, and _definitely_ not hard and grey like that she was seeing now.

Sparks flew from what appeared to be metal, scuffed and scraped beneath the split layer of skin that Sari had grown so familiar with. Her eyes grew wide, and she flung her arms in front of herself, turning them over and over in complete disbelief of what she was seeing.

“D-Dad?” she stammered, shaking even harder. “W-what’s this? What’s going on?”

She received no reply. Sari clenched her fists and spun around, locking eyes with Sumdac, who had some minor scrapes from the glass but seemed to be relatively unscathed.

Sumdac turned ghostly pale, the color draining from his face before Sari’s very eyes. He didn’t answer, and Sari waved her arms frantically, sparks scattering onto the floor.

“ _Dad?_ ” she demanded shrilly. “ _What’s wrong with my arms?_ ”

Sumdac dove forward and grabbed Sari before she could react, dragging her out of the way of another violent punch from Lugnut. Sari sobbed, clinging to her dad in a confused frenzy, tears streaming down her face.

“What’s wrong with my arms?” Sari asked again, gripping Sumdac’s shirt. “ _Dad?_ ”

“I don’t have time to explain right now,” Sumdac said hurriedly, drawing Sari into a tight hug. “Come on.”

He stood up, grabbing Sari’s hand and hauling her to her feet. Sari could barely stand, the world swimming before her in a mess of tears. She couldn’t even think straight, only properly aware of her dad’s hand as it clutched hers and began leading her down the stairs.

“Dad,” Sari begged, tripping over her own feet, her eyes locked on her sparkling arms. 

“You are a very special girl,” Sumdac said hurriedly.

The ground trembled beneath them as Lugnut moved in their direction.

“And you are more capable than you think,” Sumdac continued. “I’ve made mistakes. And I’m sorry. If I can’t help you, he can, and please remember how much I love you.”

“What are you _talking about?_ ” Sari yelled.

Sumdac drew a heavy breath. “The truth is, you are—”

_Bang._

Sari and Sumdac whirled around simultaneously, and Sari’s body froze in place as she saw a massive beam of red flying in their direction. She’d watched the Autobots fight Lugnut before, and she knew quite well that Lugnut had just given up on punching and had fired at them.

Sumdac’s hand wrenched out of her own, and despite Sari’s shriek, she felt herself get pushed backwards, her body tumbling into the dirt.

_Crash._

Once again, the world exploded, and the shockwave from the blast knocked Sari back a few feet against the hard ground. She screamed as loud as she could, pinning her eyes shut, unwilling to accept her terrified suspicions. Something hot and wet was mixed with the dirt and rubble that slammed against Sari’s face, but she kept screaming nonetheless.

The dust settled far too quickly, and Sari screamed even louder when she heard another set of footsteps slowly stride into the room.

“Lugnut, you buffoon,” a smooth, cold voice said. “What did you do?”

A loud _thud_ echoed through the room as Lugnut presumably dropped to his knees. “I am sorry, my Lord,” he grumbled. “A human pest entered the base. I tried to dispose of her, but Professor Sumdac—”

“Is splattered on my walls,” Megatron said darkly. “ _Imbecile._ ”

“He moved at the last minute, my great, glorious leader! I—”

“Stop grovelling and clean up this mess. You, pest.”

Sari covered her head and wailed as loud as she could, the floor trembling as Megatron’s immense frame approached her.

“You are the one with the key.”

“ _Go away!_ ”

“Be quiet. Give me the key, and I will give you a head start on your attempted escape.”

Something hard and cold knocked against Sari’s hip, and she cried out in pain, sprawled across the damp ground. Against her better judgement, she opened one eye, shuddering at the sight of Megatron’s colossal frame looming over her. His optics simmered with scarlet heat, the light reflecting like blood against a barred face mask—when had he gotten something like that?

“It’s _mine,_ ” Sari choked out, wrapping her hands around it, trying to find the courage to stand up and run.

Megatron chuckled wickedly, the sound quickly escalating to an awful, howling laughter. “It is the rightful property of the Decepticons,” he said. “Of _myself._ Give it to me _now,_ foolish human, or you will soon join your idiotic father as paint on my walls.”

Tears poured down Sari’s face, and she managed a choked sob as her fingers dug into her key. What had she done to deserve this? Betrayed by her best friend, abandoned by her team, weird metal under her skin, her father lost the moment she’d managed to find him. She trembled all over, her throat raw from holding in more emotions than any eight year old should ever have to tolerate. She gripped the key so tightly that the prongs dug into her flesh, barely aware of the shimmer of white light emanating from the key’s surface.

“This isn’t _fair!_ ” she screeched. 

“Give me the key,” Megatron repeated.

Sari shook her head, lifting her arms above her chest. “ _This—isn’t—fair!_ ”

Her next movements were entirely instinctual, though it was difficult to comprehend them at first. Overcome with grief and anger, Sari felt her hands tighten around the key and spin the shank toward her chest. Her arms quickly shot downwards, burying the key in her chest with an underwhelming _clink,_ a hidden lock deep within her body opening to accept the key.

Sari’s eyes flashed open, and her body tingled all over with an unfamiliar warmth. It felt as though her veins were filling with heat, spreading from the center of her chest and working its way through every part of her body. She gasped as a fresh wave of _something_ washed over her—strength? Adrenaline? She couldn’t be certain, but she did know that when she staggered back to her feet, she felt different.

She felt _new._

Megatron raised a brow as Sari wrenched the key from her chest and tossed it aside, somehow knowing that it had finally served the purpose it had been created for.

“Interesting,” Megatron said. “A human with a Cybertronian energy signature.”

Sari ignored him, narrowing her eyes and swiping tears from her cheeks. “Shut up,” she said, surprised at how much more mature and robotic her voice sounded.

But her focus was on Lugnut now.

Letting her body take over, Sari snapped her arms downwards and charged at Lugnut, lifting the thin blades that graced the inner edges of her wrists. She yelled a broken battle cry and jumped as high as she could, kicking off the wall and twisting her body just enough so that she began to descend directly in front of Lugnut.

The brutish Decepticon was apparently too stunned to react, which was good luck for Sari. She pulled her right arm back and shoved it forward as she passed Lugnut’s face, driving the blade directly into his optic.

Lugnut stood frozen for a moment before letting out an awful holler of pain. One servo snapped upwards and crashed into Sari, sending her flying across the room, but she used its momentum to speed toward the exit on unrecognizably quick feet.

The world blurred around Sari as she burst out of the mine and into fresh air, her movements faster than anything she’d ever experienced. And as she ran, not knowing where she was going, what had just happened, or why she had just grown two feet taller, she finally let herself cry as loudly as she could.


	10. Chapter 10

Blitzwing had been _certain_ that his life could not get more chaotic. It seemed impossible for anything to get stranger, for something to flip his sanity on its head once again.

But he was a fool for thinking that, as it turned out. 

“Just sit still for, like, _two seconds,_ ” Bumblebee pleaded, leaning over Jetfire with his stingers held aloft. “It’s gonna make self-repair go _so_ much faster, you have no idea. I’ve done this before, alright?”

“No!” Jetfire snapped, wriggling against the firm grip of his twin. “I am _fine!_ ”

“Stop being whiny sparkling,” Jetstorm said as he struggled to keep his brother restrained.

“ _Shut!_ I am not trusting _stingers_ to fix me!”

“I _told_ you, I’ve done this before! I fixed Blitzwing’s whole leg on my first try! Honestly, Ratchet should’ve given me an honorary medical degree. _Ow!_ ”

Blitzwing covered his mouth, trying to hide the smirk that had lifted on his face as Jetfire slammed a pede directly into Bumblebee’s stomach. He was quite glad that the situation was unfolding _away_ from where he was sitting—the twins packed a mean punch, and he was fully aware of how nerve-wracking it could be to get repairs performed via stinger. Effective, yes, but relaxing, _no._

“Don’t be kicking!” Jetstorm pleaded. “Bumbler is trying to be _helping!_ ”

“I’m not wanting stingers so close to optical receptors!” Jetfire shouted, squirming more viciously. 

Bumblebee turned to Blitzwing, his optics begging silently for assistance. Blitzwing smirked.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “This was _your_ brilliant idea.”

“But he’s leaking!” Bumblebee begged. “Can you just—”

“ _No._ I’m quite happy to sit out of kicking range.”

Bumblebee sighed exasperatedly before leaping frantically to the side, narrowly dodging the twins as they collapsed onto one another in a wrestling, shouting heap of metal.

“Be _sitting still,_ or I will be making dent _bigger!_ ” Jetstorm challenged.

“I dare you!” Jetfire retorted.

Bumblebee fired an irritated glance at Blitzwing before jumping headfirst into the scuffle, his optics wild with determination. “Jetstorm—get his—no! Other arm!”

“ _Ouch!_ Brother! _Why?_ ”

“I will not lose!”

“No one’s competing here except for you! Come on, just let me—”

“ _I’m_ competing now!”

“Aw, Jetstorm, _no!_ This isn’t a game! I’m trying to help out! I swear, it doesn’t hurt that much, just a little— _ow!_ For frag’s sake, Jetfire!”

“Take _that,_ Bumbly!”

“Blitzy? Little help here? They’re kinda—oh no— _ow,_ can you _not?_ ”

“Don’t be in way!”

“ _I wasn’t in the way!_ I’m trying to be anywhere _but_ in the way! Come on, seriously, you guys are just gonna hurt yourselves more if you keep this up—just let me—”

“ _No!_ ”

Blitzwing took a sip of his fuel and leaned back comfortably against his tree.

* * *

One very loud hour later, Jetfire’s helm had been haphazardly soldered back into a solid, uncracked piece. He was quite clearly not thrilled to have lost to his brother and a minibot, occasionally taking a moment to pout and rub the welded bump, but Bumblebee was doing his best to reassure the irritated jet.

“It’ll heal way faster now, trust me,” Bumblebee said reassuringly, pushing a canister of gasoline into Jetfire’s servos. “Now fuel up and pipe down.”

Blitzwing had once again taken the backseat, watching Bumblebee quite curiously as he arranged himself and the twins into a small circle—or, rather, triangle. Blitzwing cocked his helm and tried to meet Bumblebee’s gaze, only catching it once and receiving a nervous smile in return.

He sat back, folding his arms over his cockpit and watching. _What are you plotting, little bug?_

* * *

“So, here’s the thing,” Bumblebee said, drawing a large arc through the mess of scribbles he’d carved into the dirt. “You guys know the Council way better than I do, but I don’t think anyone really has any idea how the Council members get a chair in the circle, you know what I mean? Ultra Magnus is in charge of appointing people, which is how not-Longarm got to be the head of Cybertron Intelligence, but how did _Magnus_ become, well, Magnus?”

Bumblebee crawled across the ground to draw a line back to the very badly drawn rendition of Ultra Magnus, tapping the circle above him with a stick. “P.C. Magnus was before him, but then out of nowhere, Ultra Magnus is Magnus now. And for the fragging _life_ of me, I can’t figure out why. And before that, all of the other Magnus’s—Magni? Whatever. All of the ones before Ultra Magnus were just booted out of office for apparently no reason. Which either means that the records aren’t complete, or the Council has been hiding stuff for billions of stellar cycles. Bringing me back to my original point.”

Jetfire nodded, aching helm forgotten as he leaned over the incomprehensible diagram that Bumblebee had drawn. “Too much lies,” he said.

“ _Exactly,_ ” Bumblebee said excitedly. “What’s the point of having a government that lies to its citizens? Isn’t the whole point of a government supposed to be having bots that represent _other_ bots and make decisions on their behalf? How can we trust that they’re making good decisions for us when we have no fragging clue what they’re doing half the time? That’s the exact _opposite_ of what they should be doing.”

Blitzwing was _flabbergasted._ Though he wasn’t taking part in this conversation, which was clearly intended to change the twins’ minds rather than his own, he was listening to it more intently than he’d ever listened to anything. All of Bumblebee’s silent moments, the times he’d stayed up late with his optics glazed over—they all made sense now.

Blitzwing was certain that Bumblebee had been thinking about his team. But he hadn’t considered that Bumblebee had also been thinking about exactly how to solve the problems his team had encountered. He didn’t just want to get them out of prison: he wanted to change Cybertron so that they would never have been considered criminals in the first place.

Blitzwing couldn’t deny it—he was impressed. He was hanging onto Bumblebee’s every word, and the twins seemed to be doing the same.

“What are you thinking should be done?” Jetstorm asked, poring over the diagram and scratching his chin gently.

Bumblebee grinned, his entire face lighting up as though he’d been waiting for that exact question. “It’s kind of a big task, especially for just one bot, but there needs to be some sort of reform,” Bumblebee said, swiping a servo across the lineage of Magnus’s. “Which is why I’m really, _really_ glad you two are here with us. We’ve got an Auto—um, former Autobot, former Decepticon, and two Elite Guard soldiers. That’s a pretty big impact, if you ask me, especially because we all have firsthand experience with this junk. So, first of all—”

Bumblebee cartwheeled to the spot next to Jetstorm, pointing proudly at a very ugly drawing of Megatron. “Meggy here has got to go,” he said. “For a few reasons. Number one, my man has completely lost his marbles, which means he’s probably gonna try to kill all of us, and that’s a no-go. Number two, he’s the perfect example of how bad it can be to overthrow a whole government.”

Jetfire frowned. “He is?”

Bumblebee nodded and circled Megatron’s badly drawn helm. “As far as I know, Megatron didn’t have the worst intentions in the world. Not at first,” Bumblebee said. “He saw these same problems with the Council and wanted to use the Allspark to basically rebuild Cybertron from the ground up. But you can’t just have _one_ mech in the lead of things, not with something this huge. Megatron is a perfect example of that—he let the power go to his processor, and ended up starting a war for control. Not a war for making Cybertron better. History just keeps repeating itself over and over, and four wars later, we’re still fighting our own fragging people.”

“So… we kill Megatron?” Jetstorm said excitedly.

“No! No, no, no way. Definitely. That’s the exact opposite of what we wanna do.” Bumblebee stood up, pacing back and forth, ignorant to Blitzwing’s optics as they traced him with admiration. “The bad news is that Megatron’s gone off the deep end, so he’s not much more than a bad example at this point. But if we wanna do this whole thing, the precedent needs to be set properly. He needs to be removed from Earth and put in prison.”

“But Megatron is evillest evil,” Jetfire said with a small frown. “How is doing prison going to be helping?”

“We don’t know that it will,” Bumblebee sighed. “But the most important thing is that we’ve gotta try. And we’ve gotta be open about it. If Steelhaven is in orbit right now, like you two said, then that’s perfect. All we need to do is lure Megatron off the planet and into Steelhaven, which shouldn’t be too hard since he wants to stuff his fusion cannon up Blitzwing’s exhaust port.”

The twins snickered. Bumblebee shook his helm, covering his mouth.

“Not like that—like, literally,” he giggled. “Megatron’s whole processor is focused on taking me and Blitzwing down. Mostly Blitzwing. Which means—”

“—We can be getting him into Steelhaven brig!” Jetfire interjected. “And be taking him right to Cybertron in stasis cuffs. Perfect—”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Blitzwing said, standing up and walking toward the group with a heavy spark. “But imprisonment cannot be Megatron’s fate, unfortunately.”

Bumblebee stopped pacing to look at Blitzwing, his expression changing from pleased to crestfallen almost right away. “Huh?” he said. “What do you mean?”

Blitzwing was not keen to interrupt Bumblebee’s meeting, but as much as he admired Bumblebee’s lofty ideas, he couldn’t let them continue without interruption. “You are very idealistic, little one,” he said lovingly, “but your ideas are currently thriving on the concept that Megatron will simply allow himself to be imprisoned.”

“Well, duh, he’s not gonna just _let_ himself go into jail,” Bumblebee said. “We’re gonna have to do some tricksy slag to get him in there But he—”

“—Is both extremely manipulative and extremely violent,” Blitzwing interrupted. “He created an uprising with his words alone, and has kept the Decepticon cause alive through even the loss of a war. He is more unstable than ever and will stop at absolutely nothing to get what he desires. And Primus only knows what he’ll set his spark on when we are no longer within his grasp.”

“Just cut to the chase and say you wanna take him offline,” Bumblebee said bitterly.

Blitzwing sighed and stepped into the discussion, turning the triangle into a crooked square. “I don’t _want_ to kill him,” he said. “But—you said that you wish to rehabilitate Decepticons, correct? They will not be rehabilitated if Megatron’s words can reach them in any way. In a way, I am fortunate to have a reason not to respect him. Decepticons more violent than I may try to break him out of prison, offline him themselves—”

“—Starscream,” Bumblebee muttered.

“Precisely,” Blitzwing said. “Megatron’s presence alone guarantees lies and deception.”

“But we can’t _kill_ him,” Bumblebee said. “We can’t give everyone the idea that killing people you disagree with is the way to fix stuff!”

“I completely understand,” Blitzwing said. “But though there are plenty of Decepticons who will change their ways without their leader to guide them, corruption creates corruption. Darkness brings out the darkness in others. Megatron’s words will forever bleed into the minds of Cybertronians so long as he is allowed to speak.”

“So we put clamp on his mouth!” Jetfire said.

Bumblebee snickered. “Not the point, but yeah, maybe,” he said.

Blitzwing shook his helm. “As much as you might want to, you must pick one paradigm to start with. Your biggest trouble is with the lies of the Council, correct? Begin with clearing the deceptions. Wipe the slate clean of deceit and rebuild from a fresh foundation.”

Bumblebee opened his mouth to argue before shutting it once again, pondering silently for a few moments. “You think I’m being unrealistic,” he said slowly, sadly.

Blitzwing pursed his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just—”

“No, it’s okay,” Bumblebee said, scribbling out Megatron’s face in the dirt. “You’re right. I’m not Megatron, I can’t change the world in one big swoop or anything.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not being sarcastic!” Bumblebee said quickly. “I mean it, for real. You’re right. That’s why I’m listening to you. No sass. One step at a time, and I guess…”

“Megatron is step one,” Jetfire said.

Bumblebee nodded.

“We can be taking him out!” Jetstorm said proudly. “We are—”

“Absolutely _not,_ ” Blitzwing said sourly. “Bumblebee put himself at incredible risk to save your sorry sparks. I do not intend to let you two run to your deaths, not when Megatron will do anything to stop whoever may wander into his path.”

Jetfire leaned toward Jetstorm. “Is it me, or is it weird to be seeing a Decepticon be nice?” he whispered loudly.

“Weird,” Jetstorm agreed.

Crimson blurred Blitzwing’s vision, but Bumblebee quickly grabbed his hand, temporarily stopping the angry tirade bubbling in his vocalizer. 

“Okay, okay, hold on,” Bumblebee said. “So we have no choice but to take Megatron out permanently. Can we at least make sure that all the other Decepticons are taken in peacefully? Until we have absolutely no other choice?”

“Whatever, sure, yes,” Blitzwing grumbled, willing the energon in his system to cool off.

“Then what’s the plan?” Bumblebee said. “I mean, it’ll be best to keep Megatron on Earth, in that case. If he gets to Cybertron, he’s either going to blow it up or create an underground ring of Decepticons or something insane like that.”

“Most likely, yes,” Blitzwing said darkly. “Especially given his current upgrades, he will be more capable than ever of manipulation by fear.”

Bumblebee tapped a digit on the ground thoughtfully. “And if we have to keep him on Earth, we have to find a way to offline him _fast,_ ” he said. “Otherwise he’s gonna tear the planet apart. And the only Cybertronians within flying distance of here are us, the Elite Guard, and my old team, who are all in jail right now. How _exactly_ are we supposed to take Megatron down when he’s slagged all of us on sight?”

Blitzwing’s spark sank, though he couldn’t pinpoint why at first. He knew the answer to that question, but answering it somehow felt wrong—like suicide, in a strange, twisted sense.

But Megatron had to be stopped. No matter how uncomfortable it made Blitzwing feel.

“He has a weakness, and a prominent one at that,” Blitzwing said. “In his original frame, a fight between himself and the rest of us would be rather fair, but in his new form, he is both significantly stronger and significantly weaker.”

Jetfire raised his servo. “Meaning?”

“A t-cog overload,” Blitzwing said.

Bumblebee snorted loudly before quickly covering his mouth. “Sorry, just—overload. Heh.”

Blitzwing wasn’t sure whether to laugh or yell, but he managed to fight back both urges. “Not slang,” he said gruffly. “Forcing Megatron’s t-cog to overload will lead directly to processor burnout.”

Jetstorm cocked his helm. “Um, mister Three-Face, sir—”

“For the love of _Primus,_ don’t call me Three-Face.”

“Sorry! Mister _Blitzwing,_ sir, t-cog and processor are entirely different body parts,” Jetstorm said. “How is hurting t-cog going to be hurting processor?”

Blitzwing sighed. “Normal t-cogs cannot handle multiple alt modes,” he said. “Triple changers can only be created through unnatural means, which is why Megatron and I are so unfortunately similar in that regard. When the t-cog is formed during the forging process, the code in the spark retains a single alt mode, and manipulation of that will lead to the spark rejecting the organ entirely.”

“But our sparks,” Jetfire said slowly. “Brother and I. If sparks meant for us to have Autobot car modes, how are we flying without exploding?”

“I cannot say for certain, since I am not privy to Autobot technology,” Blitzwing said. “But I would assume that the code borrowed from Starscream was used to modify both your t-cogs and your processors. And since there would be no code conflict, your sparks did not reject the flying alt mode. However, grafting two alt modes to a t-cog that can only naturally handle one at a time—it requires outside influence. QNA, to be precise.”

“Queue?” Jetstorm asked.

“‘Q.’ As in Quintesson.” Blitzwing lowered a digit to the ground, scribbling one of the bizarre multi-faced beings into the loose dirt. “Blackarachnia determined that a small introduction of QNA—quintyribonucleic acid, if I recall—contain different genetic instructions than that of CNA. QNA ties the code of the t-cog to both the spark and the _processor,_ as opposed to CNA, which simply connects the t-cog and the spark. A helper function, if you will. The processor will be damaged in the process, but—”

“Blitzy, sweetie, I didn’t _actually_ go to medical school,” Bumblebee said, rubbing his temples. “Can you dumb it down for the stupid ones in the class?”

Blitzwing sighed. “Blackarachnia introduced a massive amount of QNA into my frame,” he said. “ _Too_ much, I would say. It made my processor incredibly unstable, and had some—ah— _unintended_ side effects.”

Jetstorm swallowed hard. “Um… three…?”

“Yes,” Blitzwing said with a roll of the optics. “Megatron went to great lengths to ensure that my processor would not burn out entirely, essentially forcing me to become strong enough to handle the change in code. The downside of that being that my emotions can be rather _difficult_ to control, but the code is so strong that there is very little risk of a conflict between my spark, processor, and t-cog.”

“And this has to do with Megatron how?” Bumblebee said.

“Given the fact that his side effects are much more mild than my own, I am willing to assume that Megatron had Sumdac give him a much smaller dose. He is more mentally stable than myself, but the code keeping his frame stable is much weaker and prone to error. His t-cog is already strained by the changes, so any damage to it will result in damage to his processor. And his spark. And his life.”

“So you’re saying, if we can injure his t-cog somehow,” Bumblebee said slowly, “it’ll fry?”

“T-cogs are much more delicate than you would think,” Blitzwing said. “Cybertronians have natural safety valves to protect it, obviously, but they are not immune to overuse. I personally have met mechs that have burned out their t-cogs and completely lost the ability to transform. And if you recall, Bumblebee, my t-cog was damaged relatively easily during our first meeting. I would be willing to bet that if I’d tried to transform too much with my t-cog so deeply damaged, I may have been in incredibly grave danger.”

“So _that’s_ why you gave up so quickly,” Bumblebee said in a hushed voice. “So if we can get Megatron to shift between his modes too much, too quickly, you’re saying he’ll…?”

Bumblebee opened his fists dramatically in a mimicry of an explosion. Blitzwing nodded.

“Precisely,” Blitzwing said. “Destroying one part of the triple changer system will destroy the rest of the system as well. Megatron’s t-cog is both his biggest asset and the source of his downfall.”

Bumblebee’s optics were wider than Blitzwing had ever seen them, shining with inspiration and wonder. “That’s _messed up,_ ” he said. “Seriously, _seriously_ messed up. Remind me never to punch you in the gut while we play fight.”

Blitzwing snorted. “If tumbling through a rocky lake wasn’t enough to kill me, I doubt your tiny fists will do the trick,” he said snidely.

“Oh, yeah? Wanna—”

“Hey,” Jetstorm interrupted, staring into space with a confused look on his face. “Sorry to be interrupting, but—”

“Something is happen,” Jetfire said. “My scanner is damaged.”

“Mine, too,” Jetstorm said, his optics shifting as he presumably looked through his HUD. “Are you seeing it too, brother?”

“Maybe signal dampener is making hard to read?” Jetfire said.

Blitzwing frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Jetstorm pointed a single digit to what appeared to be nothing in the southwest. “Energy signature,” he said. “But… messed up?”

“Signature has no name or data,” Jetfire said, pointing in the same direction without looking away from his HUD. “Maybe Lockdown’s shields are working badly?”

“Wait, hold on,” Bumblebee said. “A Cybertronian energy signature? How far away?”

“Um… four hundreds miles?”

Bumblebee’s entire aura seemed to change in that moment, and he latched a servo so tightly onto Blitzwing’s arm that his sensors stung. “Isn’t that sort of near Detroit?” he breathed.

Blitzwing’s spark sank, and he gritted his dentae hard. “ _No,_ Bumblebee,” he said shortly. “A corrupted energy could mean many things. A stray space barnacle, a lost weapon, or worse, a _trap._ We _cannot_ investigate every strange occurrence on a whim. Not with Lockdown presumably tracking the same things.”

“But it could be something important!” Bumblebee insisted. “A cry for help? Or maybe reinforcements from the Elite Guard?”

“Precisely why we _shouldn’t_ go.”

“But—”

“Bumblebee,” Blitzwing said firmly. “We _cannot_ put ourselves in any more danger. We are already being hunted by multiple groups. You _just_ decided on taking small steps to fix the state of Cybertron. One thing at a time, yes?”

“I know, yeah, I _know,_ ” Bumblebee said, glancing at the twins. “But, I just—okay, call me weird, but I just feel like we _need_ to go see what it is. It just, what, it popped out of nowhere? If it was reinforcements, you two would’ve seen it landing, right?”

The twins nodded. Blitzwing sighed heavily, hanging his head, regretting his words before he even said them.

“Fine,” he muttered. “ _Fine._ But this is the last time I bend to one of your whims, understood?”

“Got it,” Bumblebee said, beaming in a way that screamed _I knew you’d say yes._ “Pack up the fuel, Blitzbrain, we’ve got a signal to look at!”

Bumblebee was turning into more of a leader than Blitzwing could have ever anticipated, and Blitzwing hated the ease with which he was willing to enable Bumblebee’s impulses. But despite Blitzwing’s misgivings, Bumblebee _had_ convinced the twins to stay with them in the span of only two days, and though his ideas were on par with _Optimus’s_ in terms of idealism, he was certainly giving much thought to them. He was an idiot, of course, but he was proving to be far from stupid.

Without warning, Blitzwing leaned down and pulled Bumblebee close, grasping his cheeks and dragging him into an abrupt kiss. Bumblebee made a confused noise before settling into Blitzwing’s arms, blinking rapidly when the triple changer finally pulled away.

“What the heck was that for, you weirdo?” Bumblebee said, his cheeks warm against Blitzwing’s touch.

Blitzwing shrugged. “You’re an idiot.”

“Oh, well, uh—thanks? I guess?”

Bumblebee was shaking slightly in Blitzwing’s arms, and Blitzwing held him closer, kissing the top of his helm.

“You don’t have to be brave if you don’t want to,” Blitzwing whispered into his audial. “I know you want to make things better. But you don’t have to do it all at this very moment. We can always choose to spend forever in the woods.”

Bumblebee’s spark thudded so hard that Blitzwing could feel it against his own plating. “I know,” he murmured. “Don’t you dare tell the twins that I’m terrified of all this. It could all go to slag in a millisecond. I’ve spent _weeks_ prepping that whole spiel for the twins, you know that? Though I sort of thought I’d be saying it to O-Optimus, or Prowl, or even Ratchet. But still, close enough.”

Bumblebee nuzzled close to Blitzwing’s chest for a moment before pulling back with a tight grin on his face. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ve got you. And if I wanna keep you, I gotta do the scary stuff too. And tempting as it is, it’d be _really_ hard for us to live in the woods if Megatron blows up all the gas stations.”

Blitzwing bit his glossa. “I suppose that’s true.”

“And just so you know, yes, I know that this signal thing is probably a trap,” Bumblebee said. “But it just feels _important_ somehow. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s the start of my whole ‘fix the world’ plan.”

“I hope you’re right,” Blitzwing said. “But remember—you promised to give me a warning before you run directly into danger, yes?”

“Yeah,” Bumblebee said. “A deal’s a deal. We can make up secret hand signals on the way there. Now come on!”

Bumblebee extracted himself from Blitzwing’s grasp and plastered a grin on his face. “We’ve got a trap to spring, dorks!” he said. “Pack up the fuel and let’s go make some bad decisions!”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a wee bit gory, readers beware!

Intergalactic travel was far from being considered comfortable, but Ultra Magnus had never felt as stiff as he did while extracting himself from Weatherlight’s cockpit. While the shuttle was small, it was the stress of the journey that made arrival on Cybertron so much sweeter.

Magnus stretched his joints as much as possible, stepping onto the landing pad and relishing in the taste of Cybertronian air. He’d only been on Earth for a few hours at most, opting to spend most of his days surrounded by familiar machinery rather than dirt—an element that, fortunately, Cybertron was not affected by.

His processor hadn’t stopped racing since the moment he’d taken to the stars. Alone with his thoughts, Magnus had run through a million scenarios, trying to deduce what sort of insanity was going to fall upon Cybertron next. Would the planet fall into war once again? What was he supposed to do with Optimus Prime and his team? Would their traitorous actions spread to other Autobots? Could _another_ faction emerge?

Ultra Magnus was quickly freed from his cyclical thoughts, sighing as he watched a familiar figure stride across the landing pad and approach his shuttle. Longarm Prime, one of the most clever mechs Magnus had ever worked with, greeting Magnus with a salute and a stern, anxious frown.

“Ultra Magnus, sir, welcome back,” Longarm said, dropping his attention stance at Magnus’s command. “I hope the journey wasn’t too uncomfortable for you, sir?” 

“I am about as uncomfortable as one can be, Longarm Prime,” Magnus said gravely.

Longarm gritted his dentae. “Understandable, sir,” he said. “Let me take that load from your arms.”

He reached for Magnus’s hammer, which Magnus withdrew sharply with a shake of the head. “That won’t be necessary, thank you,” he said. “I only ask that you arrange an immediate meeting of the Council.”

“I take it this is about the ‘issues’ you told us during our last meeting, sir?”

“Correct. I was unwilling to part with the information over telecommunications, but Blitzwing has accused you of being a traitor. The Council needs to discuss the next steps in keeping such an accusation quiet in order to avoid panic among the people.”

Longarm seemed rather unfazed by what Magnus had said, nodding with almost stone-like stoicism. “Did he, now?” he said.

Magnus sighed. “An outrageous accusation, is it not?” he said, beginning to walk toward Metroplex’s entryway. “You have been one of the most successful heads of the Intelligence Guild, perhaps for all of Cybertronian history.”

“Mm. Thank you, sir,” Longarm said.

Something about the flatness in his tone set off alarms in Magnus’s processor, and he slowed his stride, casting a glance toward Longarm. “What would you suppose Blitzwing’s intentions were, in making such an accusation?” he asked slowly.

Longarm shrugged dismissively. “The files I’ve read about Blitzwing indicate that he’s a bit of a chaos-bringer, sir,” he said. “Perhaps he is attempting to create unrest within the Elite Guard. Make us weaker. Sir.”

There was nothing wrong with that answer, Magnus supposed. So why did he suddenly feel so uneasy? He kept walking with his optics straight ahead, uncomfortably aware of Longarm’s footsteps thudding alongside him.

Was that answer _too_ perfect, perhaps? _Don’t be so foolish,_ Magnus told himself sternly. _You have been alone in a shuttle for too long._

“I do suppose that if you _were_ a traitor, that would be quite a long operation,” Magnus said aloud, unsure if he was talking more to himself or to Longarm. “Would it not?”

Longarm’s footfalls abruptly stopped, and a hundred errors blasted across Magnus’s HUD before he could comprehend what was happening. Confused, Magnus froze, a violent pain suddenly rocketing through his abdomen and directly to his spark, igniting his vision with leakage notifications and failure warnings.

Magnus opened his mouth to speak, surprised to feel a stream of energon cascade from deep in his systems and bubble from between his lips. Slowly, with painfully jerky movements, Magnus shifted his gaze downwards, his optics locking on the tips of three enormous, energon-stained spears of white twisting through the plating in his abdomen.

“A longer, more _infuriating_ operation than you could ever comprehend,” an unfamiliar voice said, whispering directly into Magnus’s audial.

Magnus tried to speak, to ask what was happening, but he only managed a weak gurgle, energon and oil splattering down his front. The claws erupting from his stomach were abruptly wrenched backwards, and Magnus collapsed in their absence, his frame giving out as critical fluids spurted from the gaping holes left behind.

He hit the ground with a _thud,_ choking on vents that seemed unwilling to circulate air through his failing systems. Optics blazing wide, trying to see past the cacophony of errors coating his HUD, Magnus just barely managed to see a circle of crimson swimming on Longarm’s forehead.

 _This can’t be happening,_ Magnus thought as his vision tunneled. He cycled through his memory files, trying to remember exactly what Blitzwing had said about Longarm, the accented voice echoing through his processor as he latched onto the echo.

_Did you never think about how Longarm’s stretchiness is really, really similar to what Shockwave used to do?_

Magnus tried to ask for confirmation, but his vocalizer had long since shut down, his self-repair preoccupied with far more egregious injuries. His body rippling and seizing, Magnus couldn’t bring himself to close his optics, his gaze locked on the increasingly massive frame looming over his own.

A frame with only one optic, broiling triumphantly above him.

Even though his optics were wide, the darkness that had bloomed in Magnus’s eyes quickly began to eat at the edges of his vision. The errors on his HUD flickered and blurred into one: `Critical failure. Commencing shutdown sequence.`

The last thing Magnus saw was Shockwave descending over him and plucking the hammer from his twitching, dying servo.

* * *

_Bwong. Bwong. Bwong._

“For frag’s sake!” Sentinel snapped, tossing his datapad to the floor. “Can’t a mech enjoy being off-shift for _once?_ ”

Sentinel grumbled to no one in particular, bemoaning the fact that the Council was ringing him with high importance. So what if Magnus had gotten to Cybertron? That wasn’t any reason to _call._ Forcing a stern about-face, Sentinel answered the call, cocking his helm when he saw that the meeting only had one attendee.

“Cliffjumper?” Sentinel said, leaning back in the command chair. “Where’s the rest of the Council? Meeting without you, I would guess—”

“Now isn’t the time, Sentinel,” Cliffjumper said hurriedly, clenching his jaw. “Get Jazz. _Now._ ”

Sentinel’s spark sank, and he sat a little straighter, a frown taking over his face.

“What happened?”

* * *

“—happened? Wasn’t anyone on duty?”

“ _Obviously,_ Longarm Prime had been assigned to oversee Ultra Magnus’s safe descent. The rest of us saw no need to interfere in his duties.”

Optimus lifted his helm as a chorus of angry voices flooded the brig. The rest of his team followed suit, their optics quickly drifting toward the wall separating them from the bridge.

The door was open, and Jazz was slipping away from it with his back turned. Prowl pressed himself against the glass of his prison—Optimus briefly wondered if he looked as confused as Prowl did.

“Did Jazz—”

“ _Shh!_ ”

Ratchet interrupted Bulkhead’s question with a quick hiss, drawing a digit across his neck. Optimus nodded at him gratefully, though the same question rang in his own processor— _did Jazz leave the door open on purpose? Why?_

Seeing into the bridge was quite difficult, but Optimus was able to separate the overlapping voices with relative ease. Sentinel was, shockingly, silent, while Cliffjumper shouted at an irate Alpha Trion.

“There’s no point being mad about it now!” Cliffjumper snapped.

“I am simply saying that if someone else had been at the scene, perhaps Ultra Magnus could have been put on spark support.”

“But _no one else was there!_ We need to—”

“Lower your voices,” Perceptor’s unusual voice interrupted, somehow emotionless and irritated all at once. “An all-points bulletin has been issued. Longarm Prime will be located and brought into custody.”

“ _He took Magnus’s ship!_ ” Cliffjumper shouted. “Jazz, thank Primus, you’re finally here. We need to know exactly what modifications were performed on Weatherlight.”

“What’s going on here?” Jazz said. “Did you say…?”

“Ultra Magnus was found offlined on Metroplex’s landing bay six cycles ago,” Perceptor said. “He was—”

“Oh, Primus,” Jazz said, taking a few steps backwards. “I—how?”

Optimus clapped a servo over his mouth, feeling his optics bulge out of his helm. Bulkhead fell over in his cell, vents whirring in a loud panic.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Ratchet whispered, his voice raw and husky.

Optimus’s world spun around him for a few moments. Magnus was _dead?_ He had died six cycles ago? _How?_ He feared he may collapse as well, but he forced himself to keep listening, biting on his digits to keep from making a sound.

“The cause of death is multiple stab wounds to the abdominal region,” Perceptor droned.

“I called as soon as I saw him,” Cliffjumper said, sounding almost dizzy as he spoke. “Well, uh, actually—I went to look for Longarm first, since he was Magnus’s greeter, but he’s… gone. Probably took Magnus’s ship, too.”

“So it’s reasonable to assume that he’s the murderer, then?” Sentinel said, his voice uncharacteristically low. 

Bulkhead made a small choking noise, and Optimus whirled toward him, his tanks churning uncomfortably. 

“What?” he whispered.

“Um—remember what Blitzwing—”

“Yes,” Prowl hissed in reply. “Longarm _must_ be a traitor.”

“And if he’s actually _Shockwave,_ ” Bulkhead muttered, “then he’s probably coming to—”

“Unfortunate as that news is, and believe me, it’s tragic,” Sentinel said, his voice overpowering Bulkhead’s in an instant. “This means that Cybertron is currently operating without a Magnus, correct?”

“You legit right now, Sentinel?” Jazz barked. “At least let the body cool before trying to push rank!”

“I’m thinking about the good of Cybertron, thank you very much!”

“The Council will appoint a new Magnus in due time, Sentinel Prime,” Alpha Trion said coldly. “However, since you mention it, I do suppose that Ultra Magnus’s untimely demise would leave you as acting Magnus.”

“I don’t think we’re looking at the main issue right now,” Cliffjumper said. “Ultra Magnus is _dead._ Am I the only one who cares about that?”

“That’s precisely my point,” Sentinel said, sitting ever so slightly straighter. “The timing of this _tragedy_ can’t be a coincidence. Megatron is growing in strength. Steelhaven had to fire at him just a couple of weeks ago because he was flying right into our orbit. Magnus plus all of the slag going down with Blitzwing and Megatron, they _have_ to be connected somehow.”

“Didn’t Blitzwing accuse someone of something?” Cliffjumper said. “Was that about Longarm?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Sentinel said, standing up and beginning to pace before the monitors. “All of this coincides perfectly with Megatron’s increasing power. While I respect Ultra Magnus’s wishes to have Megatron come to _us,_ I think this escalation could be considered a declaration of war if we don’t deal with it _now._ ”

“What are you suggesting?” Jazz said slowly.

“Megatron is currently on Earth,” Sentinel said. “Which means we need to perform a direct assault. We’re in the perfect position to do it!”

Optimus felt himself begin to tremble with rage. _Don’t you dare, Sentinel,_ he thought. _Don’t even think about it._

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Cliffjumper said. “What are you going to do, rain fire on the whole planet and hope you hit him?”

“It’s better than sitting in orbit doing _nothing!_ ” Sentinel snapped.

“It’s a recipe for _interplanetary conflict!_ ” Cliffjumper fired back.

“Calm down, you two!” Alpha Trion interrupted. “I would advise against a direct assault for the time being, Sentinel Prime. Decepticon uprisings are stirring across the planet, and they are acting more and more boldly. However he is transmitting them, Megatron’s words are having an impact far greater than we are prepared for at the moment.”

“And if we shut him up, we won’t have to worry about that anymore!” Sentinel said. 

Jazz murmured something to Sentinel that Optimus couldn’t hear, though it was growing more difficult to hear anything over the sound of his rattling plating. Optimus couldn’t believe how selfishly Sentinel was acting, how _idiotic_ he was for even _considering_ destroying Earth. His whole body shook with rage, but somehow, he managed to stay quiet.

“I’m not willing to sit around and let someone else go offline,” Sentinel continued harshly. “And as acting Magnus—”

“The Council can overrule the actions of the Magnus, Sentinel. _Especially_ a temporary appointment.”

“And as long as _I’m_ acting Magnus, no one’s going to get hurt! Not on my watch!”

Quite abruptly, the monitors in the bridge snapped off, and Sentinel got to his pedes, remote in hand.

“Go make sure that the prisoners are secured,” he said to Jazz. “We’re landing.”

“Sentinel, think about this for a sec,” Jazz pleaded. “What exactly do you—”

“I’m not _asking,_ Jazz, and as your _commanding officer,_ I _order_ you to help me prep for landing!”

Jazz stood in silence for a few moments before slowly walking toward the brig. His expression spoke the words that couldn’t reach anyone’s lips, and he cast an apologetic glance at the team before shutting the door and disappearing.

Optimus could only stare, taking in the stunned silence that surrounded him. He tried to meet someone’s gaze, _anyone’s_ gaze, but everyone’s optics were hollow with grief and antipathy.

The only one brave enough to speak was Ratchet, who said only two words: “We’re slagged.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, one that Optimus couldn’t begin to refute.

They _were_ slagged.

* * *

Shockwave’s pounding spark only slowed when Cybertron was but a pinpoint of light in the distance, barely distinguishable from the rest of the stars in the sky. Autobot ships were ridiculously easy to pilot, and he was wonderfully surprised with how quick this particular shuttle had taken off—modified, most likely.

His claws were smeared with Ultra Magnus’s energon, but Shockwave didn’t mind the mess. He’d dealt with far worse. If anything, the pink smears across his frame would dry into war paint, a gruesome reminder of how easily he’d taken the Magnus offline. 

_Damn that Blitzwing,_ Shockwave thought bitterly, searching for the communications dock. First, the three-faced idiot had run off with an _Autobot,_ and now he was revealing Megatron’s secrets to their Elite Guard? Shockwave couldn’t begin to comprehend what sort of reasoning the triple changer had come up with, what his excuse could _possibly_ be for such a disgusting betrayal, but he supposed it didn’t matter anymore.

If Blitzwing wanted to act like an Autobot, he’d meet his end with the rest of the Autobots.

After a few minutes of tinkering, Shockwave managed to find the transmission controls, and he immediately loaded his credentials and placed a call. After decades, _centuries_ of working exclusively with Autobot technology, Shockwave had learned a thousand ways to open calls to Megatron in even the strangest of locations, and this meager excuse for a shuttle was no exception.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Shockwave was able to greet Megatron with his own face and colors. And it was _exhilarating._

“My Lord,” Shockwave said, bowing deeply as Megatron’s face was broadcast across the entire viewing screen. “I—”

“That does not appear to be Autobot Intelligence,” Megatron said. “Where are you?”

Shockwave sat upright, keeping his helm low. “My position within the Autobot ranks was recently compromised,” he said. “I am currently on an Autobot escape shuttle, heading for your location at top speed.”

“ _How?_ ”

Shockwave shuffled nervously. “This ship was, ah, hijacked, my Lord,” he said. “Ultra Magnus landed on Cybertron as expected, and I was unaware that Blitzwing had informed him of my status within their ranks. I—”

“He _what?_ ”

Megatron’s entire frame seemed to swell with rage, his optics boiling with scarlet rage. Shockwave lowered his helm even more, his spark surging.

“Ultra Magnus is with the Allspark, my Lord,” Shockwave continued, gesturing to the massive Magnus Hammer resting at his side. “There is no doubt that the Elite Guard will suspect me, but I doubt they will follow my path. I am coming to assist you in whatever you need, my liege. My time on Cybertron will continue only under your rule.”

Megatron cocked his helm, wearing a nasty grin that Shockwave had never seen before. “Let me see if I understand correctly,” he said, rage dripping from each word. “Blitzwing told the Autobots that you are a spy. You _killed_ Ultra Magnus and stole his ship without disposing of the body.”

“I had no choice, my Lord,” Shockwave said. “Though I can say, without a doubt, the Elite Guard will be more scattered than ever due to my actions. I apologize for—”

“You went against my direct orders,” Megatron snarled. “I told you _not to reveal yourself._ ”

Shockwave’s antlers twitched irritably. “I did not, my liege,” he said. “The revealing of my position was not in my control.”

With frightening abruptness, Megatron’s frame relaxed, and his grin settled into a calm, flattened smirk. “Well, I suppose it cannot be helped then,” he said smoothly. “I will need your assistance anyway. I intend to commandeer Steelhaven, and your expertise with Autobot technology could prove useful.”

Something deep in Shockwave’s spark was unsettled by the speed with which Megatron’s mood shifted, but he decided not to address it. “As you wish, my Lord,” he said with another steep bow. “I look forward to working with you directly once ag—”

Before Shockwave could finish, the viewing screen went dark. Shockwave lifted his helm in surprise: Megatron had never hung up on him before.

Shockwave had suspected that this surgery was not the healthiest, and the strange call had only confirmed his worries. Though _worries,_ Shockwave supposed, was a bit of a strong word—this _was_ the closest that the Decepticons had been to victory in millenia. 

Megatron’s plans would prove triumphant. Shockwave was sure of it. And he couldn’t wait to be the one to help see them through.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay, brain machine broke but it better now

As the world smeared and blurred into a mess of green and brown, Bumblebee remembered precisely why he wasn’t a fan of flying.

He was, of course, not opposed to speed in any way. In fact, traveling at about five _hundred_ miles per hour could be considered a dream of Bumblebee’s, and he spent a few moments after takeoff vaguely wondering if it was possible to drive at these speeds. But _flight—_ it lacked that special something, the grit of asphalt between tire treads, the weight of inertia pulling at his chassis, the roar of exhaust as it popped from gear to gear.

Flight was smooth, clean, _boring._ Which made it, for Bumblebee, exceptionally nauseating.

Walking had been the preferred method of transportation for quite some time, and Bumblebee would have been perfectly happy to stick with it—if the corrupted signal hadn’t suddenly disappeared. Jetfire had stopped walking, frowning at apparently nothing, his optics scanning over a HUD that Bumblebee couldn’t see.

“Signal is gone,” Jetfire had said.

Jetstorm had nodded in agreement, throwing his servos up in confused defeat. “Are we keeping hiding then?”

“What?” Bumblebee had said without thinking. “Why? No! We gotta check it out!”

Blitzwing had sighed exasperatedly, leaning down to place a hand comfortingly on Bumblebee’s shoulder. “It was probably just an error, little one,” he had said softly. “Four hundred miles is a long way to travel for… well, nothing.”

“No!” Bumblebee had said, uncertain of why he was resisting so much. “Something’s wrong. We _need_ to see what that signal was.”

“Signal is gone,” Jetfire had repeated. “How can we be following?”

“Let’s just walk straight,” Bumblebee had said, taking the initiative and strolling forward toward nothing. “If we walk quickly, we can get there by morning! Just keep your—”

“If we are doing rush,” Jetstorm had said, “why are we not flying?”

So, outnumbered three-to-one by fliers, Bumblebee had been left with no choice but to allow himself to be strapped to Blitzwing’s cockpit and pray that he didn’t join the mile-high purge club.

Jetfire and Jetstorm eagerly took the lead of a clumsy Vic formation, zipping through the sky with remarkable speeds that even Blitzwing couldn’t keep up with. Bumblebee would have been impressed if he’d been able to think anything other than _don’t look down, don’t look down, for the love of Primus, don’t look down._

At least the sky was pretty.

Without Bumblebee even noticing, Jetstorm had banked slightly and broken formation, soaring dangerously close to Blitzwing, whose jet engines rumbled irritably at the intrusion.

“Don’t fly so close to me,” Blitzwing growled, his voice reverberating strangely through his alt mode. “Trust me. You do _not_ want to anger me in mid-air.”

“Sorry!” Jetstorm said, pulling sharply down and nearly grazing one of Blitzwing’s wings. “We are approaching probably signal location.”

Blitzwing’s frame hummed thoughtfully. “We should descend now,” he said after a moment. “If something _is_ there, I doubt falling on top of it would be of much benefit to anyone.”

Jetstorm made a happy chirping sound of acknowledgement, gliding effortlessly into formation and tilting downward. “Brother, radar contact!” he called. “Cleared for descent!”

“Maintaining four three zero knots!” Jetfire replied brightly, pulling sharply downward and barreling through the clouds.

“Hey!” Blitzwing barked as he dipped toward the rapidly toward the plunging twins. “Throttle back!”

“Aw, mister Blitzwing, sir!”

“Be funner!”

“We have no clue what we’re approaching. _Throttle back._ ”

Bumblebee rolled over, clinging to the seams in Blitzwing’s plating as he watched the world below grow larger. “What language are you speaking here?” he groaned.

“Did you forget that I was a part of Megatron’s air force for six centuries?” Blitzwing said amusedly.

Bumblebee shuttered his optics. “Right,” he said. “Gotcha. Are we at least going _down_ now?”

“Yes, moron,” Blitzwing said. “I even told them to slow down. You’re welcome.”

“You’re telling them to slow down _now?_ ” Bumblebee grumbled. “Couldn’t we have done that _earlier?_ ”

“You were the one insisting that we investigate this mystery signal,” Blitzwing replied tiredly. “Hold tight. We’ll be landing—”

“Mister Blitzwing, sir! Maintain and turn right heading nine zero!”

Bumblebee’s tanks roiled as Blitzwing’s acceleration abruptly stopped, his vision blurring for a few moments. The need to purge washed over him, and Bumblebee clapped a servo over his mouth as the twins abruptly exited their respective nosedives and slanted toward Blitzwing.

“Guys, what the _hell?_ ” Bumblebee managed weakly. “Can we _please_ keep in mind that I—”

“Sorry, mister Bumbly!” Jetfire said earnestly. “But me and brother figured out signal problem!”

“ _Great!_ ” Bumblebee groaned. “So let’s—”

“Lockdown is fighting something,” Jetstorm interrupted.

Bumblebee pushed himself upright as much as his safety bindings would allow, his spark squeezed by an invisible fist. “ _Something?_ ” he pressed. “What, like, a human? Sucks to be _that_ guy, I guess.”

“No,” Jetfire said quickly. “Little something, but not organic.”

“Too fast,” Jetstorm said.

“Too alive,” Jetfire added.

“You two are _certain_ that the energy signature you located was of Cybertronian origin?” Blitzwing said.

“Probablies?” Jetfire said. “But no identification.”

Bumblebee rapped his knuckles against the glass of Blitzwing’s cockpit, his spark suddenly doing a backflip. “If it was corrupted, maybe someone’s just got a fragged signal dampener!” he said. “Maybe Optimus or Prowl or Bulkhead or R—maybe one of them broke out! And then Lockdown’s signal dampener thing made it disappear! See! I _told_ you we had to come here!”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Unlikely, but it’s certainly possible,” Blitzwing said. “Jetfire, Jetstorm, descend and maintain cover in the trees. Watch for my signal, but _do not_ be seen. Engines on low. Don’t leave the range of my signal dampener, but don’t be too close.”

The twins twisted in midair in a strange sort of aerial salute, the roar of their engines abruptly deadening as they drifted toward the ground in near-silence. Blitzwing’s frame jostled roughly, twisting and transforming back to root mode, thrusters active. Bumblebee managed only a yelp before Blitzwing’s arms closed around him, holding him securely against his chest.

Bumblebee squirmed indignantly. “Little warning next time?” he said.

Blitzwing smirked. “Noted. We will be descending and immediately pursuing Lockdown to avoid suspicion about potential engine noises. Please do _not_ do anything without telling me.”

“Got it,” Bumblebee said as the two of them began to drift toward the ground, painfully slowly.

Staying quiet was of little issue, Bumblebee realized. His spark was pounding so violently that he could barely hear his own thoughts, his needless grip on Blitzwing weak and shaky.

Who was Lockdown fighting, if not them? Bumblebee tried to think of _anyone_ that could have been sent after himself and Blitzwing, but all of the ideas seemed ludicrous. Even if Ultra Magnus had sent for reinforcements, it would be almost impossible for anyone to arrive from Cybertron in just a few weeks without a modified spacecraft. Maybe there were _more_ bounty hunters around? Lockdown would certainly fight someone over a bounty—or, at least, Bumblebee suspected he would. 

Part of him desperately hoped that Lockdown’s mysterious adversary _was_ one of his teammates, but the idea of seeing any of them made his processor feel unusually heavy. How was he supposed to face any of them? Were they trying to throw him in jail, or were they here to help him? What was Ratchet going to say if _more_ bots ran away from him? What if it _was_ Ratchet?

Bumblebee’s tanks lurched. He didn’t know which was worse—facing a very angry Lockdown, or facing an even _angrier_ Ratchet. 

“Blitzy,” he whispered as they broke through the treeline. “If it’s Ratchet, what are we—”

“Shh,” Blitzwing hissed.

Bumblebee wriggled angrily. “Don’t _shh_ me!” he whispered loudly. “I’m—”

“It’s not Ratchet,” Blitzwing interrupted. “Listen.”

Blitzwing’s pedes hit the ground with a deafened _thud,_ his thrusters whining briefly before falling into silence. Almost immediately, Bumblebee’s audials filled with the sound of screaming—a painful, terrified, audial-splitting _shriek._

“Stop screaming before I cut your vocalizer,” Lockdown said in a low, threatening tone. “ _Tell me._ ”

The screaming continued, broken with pathetic sobs. Lockdown growled.

“ _Tell me what you know._ ”

“I don’t know _anything!_ Please—!”

Bumblebee felt as though he’d been doused in ice, the energon in his lines turning to slush. He drew a shuddering breath, swaying on the spot, stabilized only when Blitzwing grabbed his servo.

“Bumblebee,” Blitzwing breathed. “Is that…?”

Bumblebee held desperately to his last shred of consciousness, forcing himself to look at his beloved triple changer as he trembled all over. “ _Sari,_ ” he whispered.

Blitzwing nodded in agreement, but his optics were wild with confusion. “But… the energy signature—”

Another scream split the air, barely audible over the sudden wail of a chainsaw motor. Bumblebee grabbed his audials, fighting the burn that bubbled behind his optics.

“I don’t know,” he hissed. “I _don’t know._ But if you don’t let me go out there _right now,_ I _swear,_ I’m gonna—”

“I will think of a plan,” Blitzwing said without an ounce of hesitation. “Stall him. _Go._ ”

Bumblebee didn’t need to be told twice. He dropped Blitzwing’s hand and flung himself through the bushes, stingers held aloft before he even realized that he’d drawn them. Rage and panic blasted through him with such intensity that he barely comprehended the scene before him, a single thought ringing in his processor— _get her to safety._

“Hey!” Bumblebee hollered, his voice cracking roughly. “Let her _go!_ ”

Lockdown turned toward Bumblebee, a nasty grin spreading over his face, the recently bandaged hole in his neck creaking ominously. “Oh, there you are,” he said, his terrible chainsaw retracting and reforming back into a simple servo. “A few more seconds and I was _actually_ going to start torturing this little squealer.”

His other servo unclenched, and a bundle of shockingly familiar orange collapsed to the ground, coughing and whimpering as Lockdown kicked them behind one of his pedes. Bumblebee blinked a few times, unsure of what he was seeing, wondering if perhaps his optics were completely frazzled.

But they weren’t. As he’d suspected, the figure _was_ Sari—but, somehow, it _wasn’t._ She was too tall, her hair too short, her eyes too blue. But her hair clips, her dress, the shocking red of her hair, all of it was the same.

Bumblebee felt dizzy again, but he forced himself to stay alert, stingers still pointed directly at Lockdown.

“Sari?” he said uncertainly. “Is that… you?”

Sari-but-not-Sari-but-yes-Sari-but-it- _couldn’t_ -be-Sari pushed herself upright, clutching her neck where Lockdown had been squeezing it. She turned weakly toward Bumblebee, her blue eyes growing wide as they landed on his own.

“B-Bee?” she stammered. “How did—”

“Well, this is all working out _much_ better than expected,” Lockdown mused, drawing his chainsaw once again and holding it almost lazily at his side, an indirect threat to Sari as she wheezed for air behind him. “You came right to me. Where’s your freak boyfriend? I want to tell him how loud his ‘sneaky’ descent was.”

More than anything, Bumblebee wanted to rush toward Sari, grab her, and run for his fragging _life._ But Blitzwing had told him to stall, and as much as it pained him, he could manage it for at least a few minutes.

Drawing a deep breath, Bumblebee wrenched his gaze from Sari’s, narrowing his optics at Lockdown. “How did you find her?” he said, making his voice as low and vicious as possible.

The effect, if there even _was_ one, was lost on Lockdown. The bounty hunter simply snorted.

“Well, let me tell you, that signal dampener old Blitzy’s got has been quite the thorn in my side,” he said matter-of-factly. “But I don’t mind an interesting chase. I knew you two would be on this planet, so really, I’ve just been asking anything with a Cybertronian signal about you. But the jets were _way_ less help than expected—who knew Autobots could fly these days?”

“Cybertronian,” Bumblebee choked out. “ _Cybertronian._ But Sari’s a human!”

“Not according to her energy signature,” Lockdown said smugly.

Bumblebee whipped his helm toward Sari, who threw her hands up in confused panic, triggering a coughing fit.

“I’m as confused as you are!” she croaked.

“And useless,” Lockdown said. “I was about to just toss her aside after she didn’t tell me anything juicy. But then, lucky me, I see you two coming for her. And based on how you stupidly jumped at me last time we met, well, I assumed you’d do the same again.”

His grin grew wider, more ghastly. “Pretty smart, wouldn’t you say, Blitzy?”

Bumblebee tried not to react as he felt the ground behind him tremble, heavy footfalls thudding against the mud. He clenched his jaw, keeping his stingers tightly trained on Lockdown, shaking all over.

“Very clever, Lockdown,” Blitzwing said calmly. 

“Oh? Not gonna bite a hole in me this time?” Lockdown said, the teeth on his chainsaw beginning to rotate slowly. “Pity. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a rush like that one.”

 _Whirr._ Blitzwing giggled, dancing from pede to pede, shaking the ground even more. “If you want, sure,” he said giddily. “But I have a better idea!”

Bumblebee turned his helm just slightly, raising a brow. “Uh, Blitzy?”

“Pipe down, short stack,” Lockdown growled. “Go on.”

“How about this—you want us because of a bounty, yeah?” Blitzwing said. “Let the little girl go, and we’ll come with you!”

Bumblebee spun around fully, optics wild with panic. “Sorry, _what?_ ”

“Doesn’t _sound_ very fun, but it would save me a lot of time,” Lockdown said. “Go on.”

“We’re running low on fuel and have _three_ bad baddies trying to kidnap us every day,” Blitzwing said with an overly exaggerated frown. “We’re gonna get caught eventually, right? But Bee likes this little human thingy, so if we let her get hurt, we’d be even badder baddies than the three baddies chasing us, yeah?”

 _Three?_ Something snapped rather suddenly in Bumblebee’s processor, and he tried his best not to show it. Blitzwing was _lying._ The twins were waiting in the trees for ambush, and apparently, Lockdown was none the wiser. 

Bumblebee did his best to play along, lowering his stingers and glaring at Blitzwing as much as he could. “C-come on, Blitzy!” he said in his best lying voice. “We can’t just _give up!_ After all this time?”

“But _Bee,_ I’m tired of _running,_ ” Blitzwing moaned dramatically, chewing the scenery with gusto. “And we _can’t_ let him hurt Sari! Not _Sari!_ ”

It took all of Bumblebee’s self control not to laugh, but fortunately, Lockdown seemed exhausted by the theatrics.

“Cut it out, weirdo,” the bounty hunter snapped at Blitzwing. “You, minibot. Come here.”

“Go!” Blitzwing gasped miserably. “Lockdown, the human, please! I can’t stand this anymore!”

Bumblebee hesitated, casting a nervous glance at Blitzwing, who was lost in his own personal soap opera. _This has to be part of the plan,_ Bumblebee thought anxiously, praying that he was right. _It’s gotta be._

He retracted his stingers, ignoring his pounding spark as he walked meekly toward a smirking Lockdown. Every step felt like a death sentence, and as Bumblebee grew closer and closer to Lockdown, he became acutely aware of how _big_ he was.

 _Jeez,_ he thought. _Can’t any of the evil ones be small?_

“No funny business,” Lockdown warned, his chainsaw whirring threateningly. “Wrists.”

“I’m not gonna fight you,” Bumblebee said indignantly. 

Lockdown’s chainsaw whined even louder. “ _Wrists._ ”

His spark sinking even deeper into his tanks, Bumblebee held forth his trembling arms, wincing as Lockdown procured stasis cuffs from seemingly nowhere and locked them into place. Bumblebee squeaked in panic as the cuffs took effect, his joints seizing, helpless as he tumbled forward and smashed into the ground.

“Ow,” he wheezed. “B-Blitzy?”

“Come on, then, freak,” Lockdown said, swinging another set of stasis cuffs around a single digit. “Human, you can scram once Blitzy here is locked up.”

“I’m _sorry,_ Bumblebee!” Blitzwing yelled, throwing a servo over his face in obnoxiously overblown shame. “What ever am I to do _now?_ ”

He practically yelled the last word, slamming backwards into the ground. “Oh, Primus, I’m going to faint!” he continued. “Bumblebee, I’ve betrayed thee! _Here I am, Lord! Is it I, Lord? I have heard You calling in—_ ”

“Will you _shut up?_ ” Lockdown snapped.

_Clang._

Bumblebee’s spark did a relieved backflip as Lockdown’s shadow suddenly vanished from above him, flooding his optics with afternoon sunlight. Sari gasped and stumbled to her feet, staggering toward Bumblebee with panic in her shining eyes—optics?

“Bee?” she said, her voice insanely familiar yet so alien in Bumblebee’s optics. He winced and fought against the stasis cuffs, trying to hear _anything_ amongst the sounds of Blitzwing’s maniacal laughter and Lockdown’s furious shouts.

“ _You two?_ ” Lockdown bellowed, chainsaw revving. “You’re with _them?_ ”

“Bee! Are you okay?” Sari yelled, shaking Bumblebee’s shoulder with small-but-not-as-small-as-Bumblebee-remembered hands. “Who’s that? Are they more Cons?”

Everything was chaos, and Bumblebee couldn’t make sense of it with his face stuck against the ground. “No,” he managed through gritted dentae, making the best assumption he could about who the attackers were. “They’re with us. J-Jetfire! Little help here?”

“ _Tally-ho!_ ” Blitzwing screamed joyfully. The ground trembled for a moment before an ugly _crunch_ cleaved the air in two, extracted a pained grunt from Lockdown.

“Bee, what’s going _on?_ ” Sari said, her voice high and frightened. “Who’s— _hey!_ ”

The ground surrounding Bumblebee suddenly vibrated from all directions, two massive weights slamming into the ground on either side of Bumblebee. His frame flipped over, his vision immediately filling with Jetfire’s beaming face, one servo smoking and shimmering with radiating heat.

“Sorry, mister Bumbly!” Jetfire said, hoisting Bumblebee’s arms skyward and wrapping a flaming fist around the cuffs. They melted in seconds, and Bumblebee gasped as sensation flooded through his sensors once again, the mangled cuffs dropping into the dirt.

“No problem,” he said, rubbing his arms and pushing himself upright.

“We need to be going,” Jetfire said, grabbing Bumblebee’s hand and hoisting him to his feet. “Hi, human—are you human?”

Sari shrugged wildly. Jetfire mimicked the gesture before turning back to Bumblebee.

“Brother and mister Blitzwing can only be holding Lockdown for little longer,” he said. “Are we flying?”

“No, bad idea,” Bumblebee said, shaking his helm and scooping Sari carefully from the dirt. “It’s too risky with Sari. She has to breathe and all.”

“She has to what?”

“Nevermind.” Bumblebee placed Sari on his shoulders, gripping her tightly and whirling toward Blitzwing. “Blitzy! Come on!”

Blitzwing cackled as he grabbed Lockdown and suplexed him into the ground, leaving them both filthy and halfway buried in a crater of dust and uprooted wildflowers. Lockdown snarled and revved his chainsaw, prompting Blitzwing to chomp on his wrist with razor-sharp dentae, laughing around the mouthful of metal.

Lockdown hissed and ripped his arm free of Blitzwing’s grip, but Bumblebee was quickly upon him, firing his stingers over and over in a meager attempt to hit a weak spot. Most of them deflected, and Blitzwing’s face spun to crimson, a scowl etched deep into his features.

“Take Sari and _go!_ ” Blitzwing shouted. “I’ll catch up!”

Bumblebee skidded to a halt. “But—”

“ _Go!_ ”

Though his legs still felt like jelly, Bumblebee obeyed, motioning for the twins to follow as he took off at a breakneck pace. The feeling of Sari’s familiar-but-unfamiliar hands wrapped around his neck was both soothing and terrifying, and Bumblebee only barely held back a barrage of questions that he desperately needed answers to.

The low whine of Blitzwing’s thrusters echoed above Bumblebee’s helm, and a deep wave of relief washed over him. He glanced up for a moment, beaming as he watched Blitzwing transform and land heavily in front of him, energon splattered down his front.

 _They’re all okay,_ Bumblebee thought, a burst of fresh energy filling his spark and seeping into his exhausted systems. _Everyone’s okay._

Sure, Sari was shaking quite badly, but Bumblebee would’ve been shocked if she wasn’t. Whatever had happened to her body coupled with nearly getting her head sliced off by Lockdown was surely enough to overwhelm any human child. 

And make them cry. 

Loudly.

“S-Sari?” Bumblebee huffed. “You okay up there?”

Sari sniffled loudly. “No,” she whimpered.

“Do you wanna—”

“Just _run,_ Bumblebee!”

 _Okay, yeah. Right. Run now,_ Bumblebee thought, holding Sari as tightly as he could without breaking her legs. _Ask questions later._


	13. Chapter 13

It took a shockingly long time for any member of the misfit quintet to realize that Lockdown was no longer chasing them. Or maybe he hadn’t been chasing them at all. As he ran, cradling Sari as tightly as he could, Bumblebee began to seriously doubt that the bounty on their heads was worth all this effort. He and Blitzwing had slipped away twice now, and Blitzwing had pounded some serious dents into Lockdown’s plating.

As he slowed his pace, sucking cool air into his revving systems, Bumblebee vaguely wondered why Lockdown hadn’t just shot them and been done with it. It would have saved them all a lot of trouble, at least.

But despite the worry hanging heavy on his spark, Bumblebee was relieved to have Sari back at his side. He loosened his grip on her small body—frame?—as he came to a halt, urging his sensors to cool off now that they weren’t in mortal danger. _Again._

“Whew,” he said with a nervous chuckle, lowering Sari to the ground. “What a rush, am I right? Haven’t gone for a run like that since—”

Bumblebee’s light quipping was abruptly cut short as Sari drew a shuddering gasp, hugging herself into a frightened ball and wailing so loudly that Bumblebee took a panicked step back. He’d heard her cry _many_ times—hell, he’d cried _with_ her on more than one occasion. But something was wrong with the sounds she was making: they were raw, painful, ripped from deep in her gut and cracking the instant they hit the air.

What was he supposed to do? Bumblebee felt the ground rumble as Blitzwing and the twins approached, biting his lip as he felt Jetfire’s warm breath on his shoulder.

“Did you break it?” Jetfire whispered loudly.

It took a _lot_ of self control not to laugh, but Bumblebee managed to maintain his composure. He shook his helm and pushed Jetfire back gently, tentatively walking toward Sari and kneeling at her side.

“Sari?” he asked. “Are—are you okay? I mean, obviously you’re _not,_ but, uh—just calm down, okay? Take a few deep breaths. Into the—whatchamacallits? Lungs! Into the lungs. But seriously, is there—”

“He’s _dead!_ ”

Bumblebee froze, meager words of comfort dying on his lips. He knew he shouldn’t ask, he _knew_ it, but he couldn’t help himself.

“W-who’s dead?”

“ _Dad!_ He—I was—he—”

Sari made an awful gagging sound before collapsing entirely onto all fours, clawing at the ground and wailing in invisible agony. Bumblebee’s optics widened, his spark twitching uncomfortable— _that can’t be possible. Sumdac? Why?_

“Sari,” Bumblebee whispered, covering his mouth. “I’m so s—”

A large servo landed on Bumblebee’s shoulder, and he was strangely grateful for the interruption. He drifted his gaze toward Blitzwing, who was shaking his helm quite pointedly.

Bumblebee took the hint and shut up.

Blitzwing’s massive frame slipped toward Sari with remarkable tact and silence, and he slowly knelt at Sari’s side. Thankfully, if Sari was intimidated, she didn’t show it. Or maybe she hadn’t even noticed Blitzwing’s approach. It was hard to tell.

“Little human,” Blitzwing said, very quietly. “Take your time. Explanations can come later.”

It was easy to miss, but Bumblebee caught a glimpse of immeasurable relief and gratitude crash over Sari’s entire body. The tiniest tremor of a nod shook Sari’s pigtails, and with that, Sari was curled back into fetal position and sobbing incoherently.

The twins looked extremely uncomfortable but stayed mercifully silent, fiddling with their thumbs as leaves shook from the force of Sari’s wails. Blitzwing stayed at her side, motioning for Bumblebee to join, which he did with more hesitation than he would have liked.

Watching Sari cry like this was painful. Bumblebee was sure that anyone would be unsure of how to handle a crying child, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the last time he’d seen Sari. They had _not_ split on good terms, and it was all Bumblebee could think about.

He tried not to show it, but his spark was thudding violently in his chest, his entire frame alight with nerves. Bumblebee had _lied_ to Sari’s face, and then immediately ran away for what must’ve been _months_ now. He’d known that Professor Sumdac was with the Decepticons, and he’d stupidly assumed that Sari shouldn’t be privy to that same information.

He’d betrayed her. And now she was here, alone, and crying with what Bumblebee finally recognized as grief. Did she blame him for her dad’s supposed death? Was he supposed to apologize? He wanted to, more than anything, but he doubted Sari wanted to hear it. He’d screwed up big time, even if all he wanted was to protect Sari as much as he could.

Bumblebee jumped as Blitzwing’s servo suddenly drifted into his own, squeezing it ever so gently, and he realized with a start that he was shaking almost as much as Sari. He returned the gesture of comfort, trying to clear the anxious lump in his throat.

Sari cried for nearly an hour before her breathing began to steady, and even then, it took her quite some time to sit up and wipe her tears. Bumblebee would have rushed forward to help her, just like he’d always done when she got sad, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d never been in a situation like this before—was he supposed to comfort her? Or would that only make her more upset?

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely a croak, rusty as nails. “That was gross.”

Bumblebee shook his helm frantically. “No, it’s okay—really! Don’t look at me like that. Seems like you needed that.”

Sari rubbed at her puffy eyes, sniffling a few times. “Yeah.”

They sat in a very awkward silence for a long minute, not a single one of them willing to break the silence. Bumblebee swallowed hard, glancing from Sari to Blitzwing, mustering his courage for far longer than he would’ve wanted.

“So,” he said stiffly. “Um… what’s been going on?”

Sari sighed heavily, her face crumpling a little bit. “Well, after you ditched me, I went looking for my dad,” she said. Then, surprisingly, she chuckled wetly. “Just like you said I would.”

“About that—”

Sari held up a hand, closing her eyes. “Not now.”

Bumblebee swallowed and folded his hands in his lap. Blitzwing nodded gently at Sari.

“Continue, please,” the triple changer said.

“Right. So. I used an old map of Prowl’s to try and find my dad. Went to a few mines, a few caves, whatever. Eventually, I found Megatron’s little hidey hole, and Lugnut caught me when I was trying to get my dad out of that weird green jail he was in. He punched at me a bunch, broke all the glass, sliced my arms up, and surprise! Apparently I’m a freaking robot or something. Dad was going to explain, and then Lugnut—h-he—”

Sari paused, drawing a shuddering breath and squeezing her hands together.

“Megatron tried to take my key, but—I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to explain, but I felt like I needed to use it on _myself._ So I did. Stabbed Lugnut in the eye and ran away. So now I’m tall, I guess.”

Sari shrugged, gesturing at her body.

“Apparently I’m some kind of robot and I had no idea,” Sari muttered. “I was _really_ wired for a couple of days after upgrading myself for whatever, and—it’s a little fuzzy, but I think I blew up one of my d-dad’s old mines. Wandered around for a while, then that spiky dude showed up asking about you two.”

“Lockdown,” Blitzwing clarified quietly. “A bounty hunter.”

Sari sighed, rubbing her temples. “Of course there’s a freaking _bounty hunter_ after you nimrods. He asked who I was and why I had a Cybertronian energy signature, but I honestly had no idea, so I just sort of panicked. He questioned me for a while, asking if I was working for Sentinel, if I knew where you were, blah blah blah, then you two showed up. Or… four, I guess.”

She leaned to the side, waving feebly at the twins. “Hi. I’m Sari.”

Jetstorm looked alarmed.

“No need for being sorry,” he said.

“Her _name_ is Sari,” Bumblebee corrected. “S-A-R-I.”

“Oh!” Jetstorm said. “Sorry, Sari! Heh.”

“Jetfire and Jetstorm, at your service,” Jetfire chimed in. “We were also being fighting Lockdown when mister Blitzwing and mister Bumbly showed up. We—”

“Wait,” Jetstorm interrupted, stepping forward with a flash of the visor. “Lockdown was asking about mister Sentinel?”

Sari grimaced. “I guess so. He asked if I was ‘checking on Sentinel’s behalf.’ Whatever that means.”

All of the warmth seemed to drain from Bumblebee’s face, and for a moment, he feared he may faint. “Does that mean… _Sentinel_ hired Lockdown?”

“That isn’t important,” Blitzwing said quite pointedly, jabbing an elbow into Bumblebee’s side.

Bumblebee nodded, clenching his jaw. More confusion was the last thing Sari needed right now.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, that’s whatever. More importantly, Sari, are you… are you doing okay? I mean—that’s a lot of stuff for one person to deal with. And with all the, uh, stuff that happened before—I just wanna make sure you’re alright. We’ll protect you! I-If you want us to, I mean.”

Sari looked down at her thumbs, biting at the inside of her cheek. “I’m frustrated,” she said slowly. “And confused. And _mad._ Lugnut k-killed my dad, and Megatron was just mad that his _decor_ got screwed up. Dad had answers to everything, and now I won’t know any of them. I don’t even know what I _am,_ and there’s no one to tell me anymore. I guess I’m Cybertronian, since that’s what my signal was? Or something?”

Bumblebee swallowed hard. Every part of him wanted to start speculating, start giving Sari the answers that she craved, but he was just as clueless as she was. Fortunately, Sari looked up, meeting Blitzwing’s gaze rather ferociously.

“One of the last things my dad said to me,” she said, “is ‘if I can’t help you, he can.’ I thought about that for a really, really long time, because honestly, what does that even _mean?_ But I think I figured it out, and I think he meant you.”

Blitzwing frowned. “Why would you think that?”

Sari shrugged. “You knew him, didn’t you?”

Blitzwing shuffled uncomfortably. “I suppose I did, yes.”

“Clearly Lugnut and Megatron didn’t give a darn about him, and my dad probably overheard a bunch of stuff,” Sari said. “I don’t know. Call it a gut feeling.”

“Does… does this mean you trust us again?” Bumblebee blurted without thinking.

Sari’s expression hardened immediately, and Bumblebee cringed.

“No,” she said darkly. “I _want_ to. I thought about it a bunch, trust me, but you still lied to me _big time._ But I’m betting that you wanna take out Megatron, right?”

Bumblebee nodded, balling his shaking servos together.

Sari folded her arms. “Then yeah, I’ll help you out. They killed my dad, and I’m never going to forgive them for that. _Never._ ”

It hit Bumblebee at that moment, the knowledge that Professor Sumdac was dead. It wasn’t like they’d been best friends or anything, but Bumblebee knew how important he was to Sari and the team. Professor Sumdac had helped them out more than once, even if he’d made some mistakes. He was a good guy. He had to be, to raise someone as kind and smart as Sari.

Even worse, Bumblebee suddenly felt as though he was responsible for a life. No one was supposed to get hurt at _all,_ let alone be killed. All Bumblebee wanted was to be able to love who he wanted to love, and someone had lost their life because of it.

It wasn’t fair. _It wasn’t fair._

Bumblebee’s inhibitions disappeared, and he fell on top of Sari, gathering her into his arms and hugging her as tightly as he could. “I’m so sorry, Sari,” he said, forcing himself not to cry. “About your dad. About _everything._ I’m so, so sorry.”

Sari hesitated for a long moment, stiff as a board in Bumblebee’s grip. But slowly, very slowly, her arms wrapped around Bumblebee’s neck, her grip suddenly tightening as she buried her face in his shoulder.

“I missed you,” she mumbled. 

Bumblebee nearly burst into tears on the spot. “I missed you, too,” he whispered.

* * *

Small sessions of sleep throughout the days had sufficed for four robots, but with Sari now among their ranks, the quintet had decided that it would be best to start resting in shifts. Humans, or whatever Sari was, needed at least six hours of uninterrupted sleep, so Bumblebee suggested three hour shifts—one or two awake and watching for danger, and the rest of the group resting.

Blitzwing offered to take the first shift, completely unbothered by the idea of staying up late and allowing the others to rest. To his surprise, however, Sari had volunteered to stay awake with him, despite the fact that her exhaustion was manifesting itself within the dark circles under her eyes.

“I can handle a shift alone, thank you,” Blitzwing had said, rather dismissively.

“But I wanna do first shift,” Sari had said with all of her childlike stubbornness. “You watch the sky, and I’ll keep an eye on the ground. Lockdown might still be chasing us.”

Blitzwing had doubted that, but Sari refused to have her mind changed. So together they sat, watching the golden dusk melt into nighttime, stars appearing like pinpricks across the blackening sky.

For the first hour or so, Blitzwing had no idea what to say. The atmosphere was undeniably awkward. Considering how little time they’d spent together, he was surprisingly glad to see Sari alive and well, though he couldn’t help but feel slightly guilty about her father’s passing.

It wasn’t as though Blitzwing could have prevented it. To be blunt, he found it rather remarkable that Megatron hadn’t snuffed the human as soon as his frame updates were complete. But regardless, he was aware that Sari and Bumblebee were exceptionally close friends, and their fallout had been a lingering sore in the minibot’s side for quite some time now. 

Blitzwing was obviously on Bumblebee’s side, no matter the circumstances. But the human’s loss was a considerable one, and Blitzwing would be shocked if she didn’t hold some sort of resentment deep within her. Nor would he blame her for feeling that way.

“I’m sorry for getting so mad at you,” Sari said suddenly, barely louder than the crickets that surrounded them.

“On the contrary, I feel as though you’ve been incredibly level-headed, given the circumstances,” Blitzwing said.

“No—not today,” Sari corrected. “I didn’t even get mad at you today. I mean _before._ Before you and Bee left.”

Blitzwing blinked. _Nevermind on everything I just thought, I suppose._

“Well, I am sorry for not telling you about your father’s whereabouts sooner,” Blitzwing said slowly.

Silence descended over them once again. Somehow, the apologies had made everything more awkward. Blitzwing had to dedicate most of his mental energy to keeping quiet, the urge to dance creeping up on him with more and more voracity. 

“My dad must’ve really trusted you,” Sari said a few minutes later. “What did you s-say to him?”

Blitzwing looked down, his mental quebradita disappearing as he saw Sari wiping at her eyes. _She’s crying again,_ Blitzwing noted silently. Bumblebee crying was one thing, but handling _human_ emotions? Blitzwing was beyond clueless. He supposed, at this rate, honesty would probably be the best approach.

“Not much, if I’m being quite honest,” Blitzwing said, trying to recall his few memories of Professor Sumdac. “Most of our interactions occurred when I was unconscious. I do believe, however, I reassured him that you were alive.”

Sari drew a deep, shaky sigh, pulling her knees to her chest. “That’s good, I guess,” she mumbled.

Blitzwing paused, frowning. “I hope you are aware that I don’t blame him for Megatron’s current form,” he said. “He was given no choice in the matter.”

All of the air suddenly rushed out of Sari, and for a moment, Blitzwing worried that she was going to cry again. But to his surprise, her shoulders sagged in relief, a small smile crossing her face.

“Thanks for saying that,” she said. “That really means a lot. You have no idea.”

Blitzwing licked at his dentae nervously. “I’m glad,” he said. “I’m—sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” Sari said, curling back into a ball, though with significantly less tension than before. “And _I’m_ sorry for making you do a sleep shift with me. I just—I don’t know. I wanted to know what my dad said to you. If there was some reason he trusted you or something. But maybe I was wrong. I dunno.”

“Your father was incredibly smart,” Blitzwing said. “And morbid as this may sound, he has spent quite a vast amount of time with my inner systems.”

“Ew,” Sari said with a small smirk. “TMI.”

Blitzwing rolled his optics. “ _Anyways,_ if he was capable of reconstructing a t-cog, he was certainly capable of understanding the strengths and weaknesses of such technology. He and I are, perhaps, the only two in existence who know how to exploit the new Megatron’s primary flaw. Your instincts were probably correct.”

Sari’s eyes lifted to Blitzwing’s, sparkling with either tears or awe—Blitzwing couldn’t tell which. “Flaw?” she repeated.

“A long explanation for another time,” Blitzwing said. “But rest assured, Megatron will pay dearly for everything he’s done. I will make sure of that if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Good,” Sari said, dropping her chin to her knees. “But I hope it’s not the _last._ The last thing we need is someone else d-dying just because your crush got out of hand.”

Blitzwing nodded with a dry sigh. “On that, we can agree.”


	14. Chapter 14

Sentinel stared with narrowed optics as the muddy, wet, cloudy, disgusting surface of Earth grew closer and closer. Every part of him wanted to kick his datapad across the room, furious about Lockdown’s sudden refusal to locate Blitzwing and the little yellow traitor.

_What kind of bounty hunter gives up on a bounty like that?_ Sentinel thought bitterly, deleting the message as if removing it from his device would make it go away. Lockdown had griped about ‘not getting paid enough’ and ‘having better things to do,’ but that was of little comfort to Sentinel. The twins’ signals had vanished almost _two decacycles ago._ Had Blitzwing really managed to take them both out? That didn’t make much sense to Sentinel, but he forced himself not to think about it.

If you want something done right, do it yourself. That was what basic training had taught him. Sentinel knew what needed to be done, and he was tired of sitting around and waiting for someone else to do it for him. 

Elita-1’s smiling face flashed through Sentinel’s processor, and he gritted his dentae harder. _If you want something done right,_ he thought, bitterly pushing her out of his thoughts, _do it your damn self._

“Jazz,” he snapped, watching tendrils of pressurized air curl around Steelhaven’s metal shell as their altitude dropped more and more. “How close are we?”

“Exiting the stratosphere and entering the troposphere, _sir,_ ” Jazz said—Sentinel noted the spite in the honorific but opted to ignore it.

Sentinel furrowed his brow. “Meaning?”

“Meaning we’re about ten kilometers from Earth’s surface,” Jazz reiterated, prodding at a few of the levers and buttons scattered across the control panel. “Hang tight for a few more cycles and we’ll be making a planetside landing.”

“Good,” Sentinel murmured, turning back toward the monitors and watching as the features of Earth sharpened, trees and buildings and dusty black roads becoming clearer and clearer. 

Jazz coughed quietly, and Sentinel shut his optics, already prepared for the inevitable backtalk. Which, fortunately for him, came only a few seconds later.

“SP, you sure this is a good idea?” Jazz said quietly. “We don’t got a clue where Megatron is, or the twins. Maybe we should—”

“Lucky for us, Megatron isn’t blind,” Sentinel said shortly. “He’ll see us landing and come right to us. And then we can take care of this nonsense once and for all.”

“Didn’t Blitzwing say that he’s more powerful than—”

“I don’t give a _damn_ what that Decepticon has to say!” Sentinel barked. “You’re not here to question my authority, you’re here to _land the ship._ Got it?”

Jazz raised his servos in defeat. “Uh huh. You got it, Commander.”

Sentinel huffed and stared more intently at the monitor. Maybe he _was_ being a bit rash, rushing into battle like this. But he’d be damned if he let a single bot in the Elite Guard or the High Council know that. Sitting on their afts staring at a signal tracker wouldn’t solve the problem, and Sentinel was getting really tired of holding his piston in his servo while waiting for a bunch of airheaded bureaucrats to make a decision.

When action wasn’t taken, mistakes were made, and lives were lost. That’s just how it was. And Sentinel didn’t care how many glares or spiteful optic-rolls it earned him—no more Autobots would go offline. Not while he was Magnus.

Well— _acting_ Magnus. But once he pulled this off, he wouldn’t _just_ be acting anymore.

* * *

Ratchet had never particularly cared for landing sequences. Even in a ship this large, his delicate sensors still picked up on every jolt, every bit of turbulence, all peppered with the purge-inducing g-forces that made him feel uncomfortably lightweight. The reason for the landing only made Ratchet feel more ill, though he chose to ignore the dizziness swirling in his processor.

Acting almost automatically, centuries of training kicking into gear, Ratchet glanced at the rest of the team, assessing them as much as he could through a thick plate of reinforced glass. Optimus, the young, spry mech that he was, seemed to be unaffected by the feelings of descent, pacing back and forth in his cell and gnawing at the plating on his thumb.

“Prime,” Ratchet said, shaking his helm. “Don’t chew.”

“Sorry,” Optimus said, jolting the digit away from his face. “I’m a little anxious.”

“Didn’t say I blamed you, kid,” Ratchet reassured. “Just trying to keep those dentae from wearing down. Getting them replaced is a hassle.”

“How old _are_ you?” Bulkhead said with a slight snicker.

Ratchet turned toward him, noting that he was going slightly grey around the edges, but like Optimus, he appeared to be mostly unaffected. _Am I the only one who feels the ship going down? Primus, I’m old._

“Old enough to know I that I could kick your skidplate for asking me my age, and young enough to kick you _hard,_ ” Ratchet said tightly.

Bulkhead laughed, and though Ratchet was consumed with worry, he allowed himself a single moment of comfort. Optimus turned toward them, smiling wryly.

“You talk all the time about how experienced you are, yet you won’t tell us your actual age?” he said amusedly.

Prowl looked up from his meditation—a miracle, by Ratchet’s standards—a small smile creeping across his face. “That’s because in the olden days, it was considered rude to ask a mech’s age,” he said, every word dripping with sarcasm.

“Really?” Bulkhead said, optics widening, falling right into Prowl’s thinly laid trap. “How long ago was that?”

“Oh, so you think I was alive in the _olden days?_ ” Ratchet snarled teasingly. “Go on, then. Guess my age. I _dare_ you.”

Bulkhead’s face paled. “Oh—I really don’t—”

“No, no! Do it! I want to see what you think.”

“But Prowl just said—”

_Ka-thoom._

Ratchet’s tanks lurched as their prison cells were suddenly jostled, a sonorous rumble resonating from deep within the bowels of the ship. The floor beneath their pedes shuddered and whined, knocking every one of them to the ground. Ratchet hissed as he landed awkwardly on his elbow, deadening his pain receptors in an instant as he surveyed the rest of the team.

“Everyone alright?” he said.

Bulkhead groaned, rubbing his helm and nodding. Prowl’s optics narrowed behind his visor, looking this way and that as he climbed back to his feet.

“What was _that?_ ” he asked.

“Rough landing, maybe?” Bulkhead guessed.

Before any of them could speculate further, Ratchet felt his internal gyroscopes tilt, his acutely tuned vestibular systems abruptly becoming overwhelmed with a nauseating wave of vertigo. He grasped fruitlessly at the smooth floor as it tilted violently to the side, his frame sliding and crashing into the wall.

He closed his optics in a feeble attempt to regain balance, and judging by the chorus of crashing sounds around him, the rest of the team had also taken a sudden dip. Optimus cried out, slamming hard into one wall of his cell.

“You’re sort of right, Bulkhead,” Ratchet said through clenched dentae. “But we’re not landing. Brace for impact—we’re _crashing._ ”

* * *

It had been a risky move, an _incredibly_ risky move, but it had paid off.

Shockwave trusted Megatron with his life, with the very essence of his spark, but he knew that even Megatron wouldn’t stand a chance alone against the defenses of Steelhaven. Shockwave had been aboard it personally on multiple occasions, and he knew better than any Decepticon how viciously deadly it could be. Especially in Sentinel’s servos, the insolent moron. 

But Shockwave knew the vessel well. And a single, large, well-placed projectile was all he’d needed to bring the ship crashing to the ground.

Optic narrowed, Shockwave had steered Weatherlight to the starboard side of Steelhaven, kicking it into the highest possible gear as he neared his target. Inertia worked in his favor, and as he ejected, the escape pod stayed on course, barrelling toward the liquid energon storage tanks situated just shy of the starboard hyperspace engine. 

It was truly a glorious explosion. Shockwave clutched the Magnus hammer to his chest as he fell, an onboard parachute strapped to his back, watching as Steelhaven’s starboard engine erupted into a plume of magenta and orange. For a moment, Shockwave’s vision whited out entirely, his audials crackling and resetting as a monstrous cloud of smoke and energon sprayed across the sky like acid rain. 

Weatherlight dissipated into mere shrapnel, but Shockwave didn’t care—it had served its purpose. Steelhaven shuddered in midair, its controlled descent halted and replaced with a sideways nosedive. Shockwave watched in momentary awe, wishing for the first time that he could smile as the residual engines spluttered, trying to regain control.

But control would not be claimed. Shockwave, with one hit, had taken out half of Steelhaven’s energon reserves. Soon, its defenses would fail, and the ship would be emptied of Autobots, ready to be rebuilt in Megatron’s name. Stronger, faster, and more wonderful than ever before.

Shockwave’s clawed servos tingled as he pulled his parachute, listening to the wail of Steelhaven’s mangled engines as it picked up speed, flames licking at its sides as it pitched toward the ground. He _itched_ to be at Megatron’s side once again, claiming the sparks of Autobots, finally free of his servitude as a double agent and once again ready to dominate the battlefield.

He floated down dreamily, calmly, aiming himself toward Megatron’s provided coordinates.

Today was a good day.

* * *

The bridge was bathed in red, alarms blaring from every corner of the ship. For a moment, Sentinel could only stand in frozen shock, his optics blurring in panic as Steelhaven automatically reported its damages.

“`Tera-rad Roche-class Hyperspace Engine A, critical damage,`” the diagnostics droned. “`Liquid Energon Storage Tank A, critical damage. Liquid Energon Storage Tank B, critical damage. Liquid Energon Storage Tank C, critical damage. Liquid Energon Storage Tank D, critical damage. Liquid Energon—`”

“I _get_ it!” Sentinel yelled at the monitors. “Next!”

“`Energon Processing Core status, moderate to severe damage,`” the diagnostics voice continued. “`Kurisama Targeting S-S-S-S-S-S-System, moderate to sev—moderate to sev—mod—moderate—mod—mod—Kuri-K-Kuri-Kurisama T-T-T—`”

The report suddenly fizzled into static and died, leaving behind the screeching of alarms in its wake. Sentinel slammed a fist on the controls in frustration, whirling toward Jazz.

“What _hit_ us?” he screamed.

Jazz shrugged frantically, dashing from control panel to control panel, hauling on levers that did nothing to slow their descent. “Nothing good, that’s for sure,” he yelled back. “We’re going down _hard._ ”

“How far?”

“Eight kilometers?”

“Is that enough for us to hit terminal velocity?”

“Not quite, I don’t think—but we sure as hell ain’t slowin’ down!”

Sentinel balled his servos into fists, trying to remember his training. _Something_ had taken out one of their engines and half of their energon supply in one fell swoop—what in Primus’ name could have done that? No Decepticon would have known where their energon supplies were, or even come _close_ to hitting them with enough precision to make them completely erupt. Crashing was one thing, but crashing on a planet without energon to refill their tanks: that was bad. That was very, _very_ bad.

But he could handle it. He was Sentinel Almost-Magnus. He could do anything.

“Raise the shields,” he said gravely. “And prepare for crash landing.”

* * *

Shockwave _heard_ Steelhaven crash—he’d have to be an idiot not to. The ground seemed to shake for miles, a plume of smoke and earth flaring into the now-murky sky, but he didn’t have time to linger and admire his handiwork.

It was a short trip to Megatron’s hideout, and Shockwave had to admit that he was impressed with his leader’s ingenuity. Tucked within a cave, surrounded on all sides by carbon-rich mineral deposits, it was no wonder that Megatron’s signal was so well hidden from the Autobots. Even the most advanced scanners wouldn’t be able to penetrate such a foreign and thick wall of protection.

Seeing Megatron in person was everything Shockwave had hoped, and even more so what he had feared. Upon entering the command center, he fell to his knees, bowing deeply before Megatron in a frame he only recognized from grainy videos.

“My grand and glorious leader,” Shockwave said humbly, “I have returned to serve at your side.”

Grand was an understatement. Shockwave couldn’t help but look up at Megatron in all his glory, scouring the upgrades to his frame, the fresh fire that hadn’t burned in his optics for centuries. Hidden behind a barred faceplate, Shockwave could only barely make out the wide grin that spread across Megatron’s face.

“The Magnus hammer,” Megatron said, his voice low and gravelly, dangerous and beautiful and terrible all at once. “So Ultra Magnus is truly one with the Allspark.”

“I would never lie to you, my Lord,” Shockwave said. “My only regret is that you could not deliver the final delicious blow.”

“Whatever,” Megatron said, and Shockwave sharply lifted his helm in confusion. Since when had Megatron spoken so casually? “Based on the sounds I heard outside, you blew something up, yes?”

“Correct, my liege,” Shockwave said, trying to ignore the brooding stare he received from Lugnut’s optic. Or, rather, _cracked_ optic. “Steelhaven has been brought down. The damage is not irreparable, so at your command, I will begin rebuilding it at once.”

“Yes,” Megatron said coolly, formality returning. “But first, the Autobots aboard.”

“Of course,” Lugnut interrupted. “We will have them all meet once again with Ultra Magnus in the Allspark!”

“ _Yes,_ Lugnut, that _is_ what I was going to say,” Megatron said rather nastily. 

Lugnut immediately returned to his brooding, a fact that Shockwave opted to ignore. Lugnut _was_ quite annoying, and Shockwave suspected that Megatron must be quite tired of it. Especially with the strange mood swings that seemed to have plagued Megatron as of late.

Shockwave pushed those thoughts aside. Those were concerns for a later time.

“I must ask, Lord Megatron,” Shockwave said slowly. “What is your plan for the traitorous Blitzwing and his pet Autobot?”

Immediately, Megatron began to frown, fury boiling deep within his optics. Shockwave shuddered at the sight.

“Our efforts to locate them have been put on hold,” Megatron growled, glaring at Lugnut. “Lugnut has been unable to find them, and we have more important matters to attend to. I do know, however, that they are on this planet. Steelhaven only remained in hopes of capturing them, and judging by the fact that the ship is still _here,_ those two must be as well.”

A wicked smile curled at Megatron’s lips. “By joining the Autobots, Blitzwing has proven himself a coward and a weakling,” he continued darkly. “Once the other Autobot _pests_ are exterminated and Steelhaven is under our control, they will have no defenses. They will be located and disposed of by _my_ servo and no one else’s. First the Elite Guard, then the traitor, then Cybertron.”

Megatron stood a little taller, strolling toward the cave’s exit, chuckling to himself. “Come, then, my loyal servants,” he said. “The Elite Guard awaits.”


End file.
